


Hogwarts and the World

by Sunfire7845 (sunfire7845)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfire7845/pseuds/Sunfire7845
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England is summoned to Hogwarts to teach temporarily, but can he conceal his identity from the prying eyes of the students and teachers there? And then there's the looming trouble of Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic as well. Set in the 5th year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Care of Magical What!

"And that's how it is."

England finished his speech and looked at his audience. He knew that no-one except a few in the large conference room was actually paying attention him. America was wolfing down his hamburgers at an alarming rate, Russia was terrorising the three Baltic brothers, Spain and Greece were sleeping, Italy was waving a white flag (for what?This wasn't a war zone!), France was attempting to sweet talk Liechtenstein and Switzerland was yelling at him from the other side of the large conference table to lay off his sister.

England couldn't help but feel pissed off. He'd spent a lot of time preparing his speech and presenting it, and they were all ignoring him?

"DID YOU HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID?" England roared to the entire conference room.

Instantly, the whole room fell silent. Someone started clapping absentmindedly. It was really rare for England to shout. After all, he prided himself on being the world's (literally) number one gentlemen. It was usually Germany who did the shouting.

"... what did you say, punk?" Romano said, his expression sour. "And hurry it up. I wanna go home and eat. I'm hungry, damnit! Spain!" He yelled over to his sleeping friend. "What're we having for dinner?"

Spain snorted something that sounded suspiciously like "...cute when he's mad, haha..." under his breathe and went back to snoring.

Romano went red in the face. "What did you say to me, you idiot?" More yelling and chaos ensued after that comment. England groaned and facepalmed. At this rate he was going nowhere. He didn't want to tell them either, but his boss had insisted... but if they weren't going to listen to him, then too bad for them.

* * *

"See him?"

" That guy in the muggle clothing? How could I miss him? He sticks out."

"Look at those eyebrows."

"Looks like he has an entire forest growing there."

"Pfft."

Harry Potter looked up from the silverware set in front of him to the muggle man that the entire school was gossiping about. Interesting. He turned to his best friend, Ron Weasley. "Since when is a muggle allowed to teach here?"

"Dunno." Ron muttered. It was the start of the year feast, and there was a huge amount of noise coming from the students after the summer holidays. "Maybe he's here for the Defense of the Dark Arts job. I mean, it's always open right?"

"Or he might be here for something else." Hermione Granger, Harry's other best friend in school retorted.

"Like what?" Ron said. "History? Potions?" He paused. "Wait, that's impossible."

Harry snorted. As if Snape would ever give up his post.

At the staff table, Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat. Instantly, the noise ceased.

"Thank you." Dumbledore said with a smile. "As you've all noticed, we have a new teacher with us today."

"Finally." Ron hissed. "I'm starving."

"Professor Arthur Kirkland will be teaching temporarily here in Hogwarts as a replacement teacher." Dumbledore said, ignoring the tense atmosphere in the air. "He might be a muggle, but he has excellent qualifications, and I expect all of you to treat him properly." For just a while, Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "Just because he's a muggle doesn't mean you can treat him as your inferior."

Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy snorted. "Fat chance." he muttered to his friends, a smirk on his face.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione look flustered. "But what subject is he teaching?" she whispered loudly.

As if he'd heard Hermione, Dumbledore said with a smile. "Professor Kirkland will be taking the post of teacher for Care of Magical Creatures."


	2. Of Flying Mint Bunnies and Other Stuff

**Chapter 2~ Of Flying Mint Bunnies and Other Stuff**

There was utmost silence in the Great Hall after Dumbledore's introduction of the new teacher. Then, a wave of noise erupted among the students. Even the ghosts were whispering uneasily among themselves. Never before in Hogwarts' history had a muggle ever become a teacher.

"Care of Magical Creatures?"

"What happened to Hagrid?"

"Maybe he got sacked."

"Good riddance to that oaf." This particular comment came from the direction of the Slytherin table and most probably from Malfoy.

Hermione looked dumbstruck. "B-but what happened to Hagrid?" she whispered to an equally confused Harry and Ron. "He couldn't have got himself sacked, did he?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and all conversations grounded to a halt. "Professor Hagrid is on leave for a while." he said calmly, the candlelight from the chandelier reflecting off his half-moon spectacles. "Professor Kirkland will be teaching temporarily until Professor Hagrid returns. He is a very qualified teacher, and I assure you that he is just as good as Professor Hagrid."

Several people snickered loudly.

Dumbledore suddenly smiled brightly. "Enough talk about staff appointments! I know that you're all ravenous, so tuck in!"

For the rest of the feast, Harry focused entirely on eating his steak and potatoes. Next to him, Ron was inhaling the food as though he had not eaten for a thousand years.

Hermione however, was deep in thought. Even after the feast had finished and they were walking back to the Gryffindor common room, she didn't utter a single word at all.

Finally, Harry just had to ask her. "What're you thinking about, Hermione?" he said.

Hermione glanced at Harry and ignored Ron, who was yawning very loudly. "Nothing." she said a bit too quickly. "I just think that it's kind of interesting that a muggle's going to be teaching us Care of Magical Creatures. I mean, he's a muggle. Should he be able to handle all those dangerous magical creatures?"

They turned a corner and faced the potrait of the Fat Lady. She eyed the trio. "Password?"

"Flying Hipogriffs." The potrait swung forward to admit them.

Ron yawned again. "Well, we'll find out about him tomorrow, eh? We have him after lunch. If a Flobberworm bites off his fingers then, we'll know he's just an ordinary muggle."

Hermione looked slightly amused as she headed to the girls dormitory. "Ron, Flobberworms have no teeth."

* * *

England looked around his new quarters that Dumbledore had provided for him. It was well furnished, yet simple enough for England's taste. The old gradfather cloak in one corner of the room ticked almost silently, and a four poster bed with hangings awaited him. The oil lamp sitting on a coffee table gave off a warm yellow glow, bringing back memories to him of a time when electricity had not been invented yet. The luggage that he'd brought with him was placed on his bed. England opened it and pulled out a few pieces of clothing to hang up in a wardrobe that was nearby.

It was almost midnight. Somewhere in the schoolgrounds, an owl hooted as it hunted for prey in the Forbidden Forest. Absentmindedly, England wondered how his fellow nations were doing. Granted, they were most probably be in an uproar over his sudden disappearance. Well, at least, those that hadn't listened to him during his speech in the recently concluded World Conference. And those that  _had_  listened, well, England wasn't too sure what they were going to say to those that hadn't listened.

With a sigh of content, England fell on his bed fully clothed. He was fast asleep even before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

The next day after lunch, the Gryffindors and Slytherins headed down to Hagrid's cabin for their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year. The students were muttering excitedly among themselves, eager yet a bit apprehensive. After all, their teacher was still new and almost virtually unknown. Was he strict? Did he like to give detentions to students who didn't pay attention in class? Was he boring? Or (heavens help them), was he like Snape?

"Hey, Potter!" A familiar yet dreaded drawl from the Slytherin group was heard as Harry walked past them.

Harry didn't even turn back to face Malfoy. "Go disturb someone else, Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes glittered maliciously. "I was just discussing with my friends what might've happened to your big friend, Hagrid. Oh yeah," Malfoy smiled mockingly. " They've replaced him with a filthy muggle. Man, times must be really hard if Dumbledore had no choice but to employ a muggle, especially one who looks like he's fresh out of school."

Hermione glared at Malfoy. "You can give your comments about him after he has actually taught you, Malfoy." she snapped. "Come on, Harry, Ron."

Malfoy's voice could still be heard in the background even after they had walked a considerable distance from him. "... wait until my father hears about this. I bet you ten Galleons that that muggle's going to be fired by the end of this week..."

Professor Kirkland was waiting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid's house. "Come on, come closer, guys!" he barked to Malfoy and the Slytherins who were all trying to avoid entering the Forbidden Forest. "You won't be able to see it if you don't come closer!"

With a sour look, Malfoy reluctantly stepped closer to the professor. Harry grinned at Ron. Any teacher who was willing to diss Malfoy was usually a teacher he'd turned out to like.

"Now," England said after gathering the students together. "The creature you're about to see is really rare and sensitive to loud noises, so no loud chatting or any sudden screaming, or I'll dock points off your houses." He paused to let that comment sink in. "Ready? I'll call out for it now." He took a deep breathe. "Hey there, Flying Mint Bunny! You can come out now!"

A few snorts and snickers were heard from the students. Pansy Parkinson laughed shrilly. "Flying mint  _bunny_?"

England looked disapprovingly at Pansy. "Five points from Slytherin." he snapped, effectively wiping the grins off the faces of the Slytherins. " I warned you not to make any noises."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, his beloved pet appeared. The Flying Mint Bunny flapped its mint-green wings while staring curiously at the students with an inqusitive look.

A few "oohs" were heard from the girls and "eh?" from the boys. England noticed a female student breathe out in excitement as she traced the movement of the Flying Mint Bunny.

England turned to stroke the Flying Mint Bunnt. "Hey there, cutie." he crooned fondly, totally ignoring the looks that were being shot to him by his students who were busy wondering if their professor was a nutcase. Who the heck greets a magical creature with "cutie"? Except Hagrid, that is.

"Hey there, England!"


	3. Incoming Trouble

**Chapter 3- Incoming Trouble**

_A week ago..._

England nervously fingered his tie as he glanced at the clock. It was almost nine already. Where was he?

Almost as if responding to his unheard thought, England heard someone knocking on the front door. With a sigh, he got up from his couch and walked to his front door. Through the nearby window, he caught a glimpse of fiery red hair. With a feeling of dread, England opened his front door.

"I've been waiting for you, Scotland." England said softly.

Scotland's face was emotionless. "What did you call me over for? There had better be a good reason for this, little brother."

England swallowed. "As you know, I'm going to teach at Hogwarts for a year as a temporary Care of Magical Creatures professor. I need you to help fill in for me during the world conferences or G8 meeting or whatever other meeting there is."

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "How about your paperwork?"

"My boss will take care of that." England said, his eyes straying to the bottle Scotland was holding. "Have you been drinking again?"

Scotland tried to hide the bottle behind his back. "That's not important." he said snappily.

"Whatever." He didn't really care what Scotland was up to anyway. "There is a world conference again in a few days. It'll be held in New York this time. I want you to be punctual. No drinking, no smoking, and no bringing Nessie to the conference!" That last part was added because England had suddenly remembered what Scotland was capable of doing when he had one too many drinks in a day. "Got it?"

"What do you have against Nessie?" Scotland suddenly yelled violently. "It's way cuter than your Flying Mint Bunny!"

England rolled his eyes. " We are NOT having this argument again, Scotland."

Scotland composed himself. The night was getting late. "You're right. I.. I better get going. I have a party to attend."

England watched his older brother walk away from his house, swinging the bottle merrily, not caring whether his younger brother could see it. Admittedly, he was a little wary of Scotland taking his place during the meeting. But what other options he had? Well, other than Wales and Ireland. He still wasn't talking to those two after the prank they had pulled on him during April Fools.

* * *

"Attention! My fellow nations!" America's usual loud and annoying voice literally drilled a hole into Scotland's head. Scotland shook his head in disgust and folded his arms, a frown on his face. No wonder he had always let his brother represent the United Kingdom in the world conference. Most of the nations in the conference were just too noisy for his liking and acted like little kids most of the time.

Truth be told, he had been excited at first when England had told him to represent the United Kingdom in the meeting. It had been a long time since he'd been allowed to do that. But now, Scotland was beginning to think that England had played a practical prank on him. And he didn't had Nessie next to him to comfort him either. Scotland groaned at the raucous situation before him, head in his hands.

Just at that moment, America banged his fist on the table in a vain attempt to get everyone's attention. When that failed, he stood up on the conference table. " Hey hey hey! I'm talking here, yo!" he yelled. When that also failed, he finally looked to Germany for help. "Er, Germany? A little help here, fellow?"

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Germany roared, deafening poor Scotland, who wasn't used to Germany's outbursts. Scotland massaged his ears while glaring at Germany.

"Alrighty, folks!"America said cheerfully, forgetting the fact that he was still standing on the conference table. "Let's all take attendance before we begin, yes?"

Scotland felt like banging his head on the wall. They hadn't even started taking attendance?

America cleared his throat and ran his eyes down the list of nations that were scrawled untidily on the back page of his notebook. "I'm here, of course." he said, crossing out his own name which took up about half of the page. "Italy?"

"Here, ve~"

"Commie bas- I mean, Russia?"

"Da."

"China?"

"Here, aru!"

"United Kingdom of Great Britain and Norther Ireland?"

"Present and accounted for." Scotland said in a bored voice.

America was about to continue when he noticed that there was something off with England's reply. Usually, England will yell at him to get on with the meeting and to stop wasting his time, whereas a calm and cool reply from him was certainly out of this universe. Come to think of it, who was that red head that was sitting next to France?

"HEY!" Scotland stiffened considerably when he heard America yelling in his direction." You! Yeah, you! The redhead! Who're you and what have you done to England?"

"I'm Scotland." Scotland said in a monotone. "Forgotten me already?"

America recoiled physically. "S-s-s-s-s-scotland?" he said with a quiver in his voice. "What're you doing here?"

Scotland frowned and glared at America. "Don't act like a total doofus, Yankee. I'm representing the United Kingdom on behalf of my brother, England. You got a problem with that?"

America was confused. " But England replied me just now during roll call!"

Scotland sighed. "That was me, Yankee."

America pounded his fist on the table. "Okay, out with it, Scotland! Where's England?"

Scotland stared at America. "Didn't he inform you?"

"Uh..." America stuttered. "Maybe. I can't remember."

Now Scotland really felt like jumping out of the nearby window and never coming back for any more world conferences. "My brother got a temporary teaching job and will not be available for a few months." he said curtly. "I'm under the impression that he had informed you of that, didn't he?"

America's eyes widened. "I-Iggy took up a teaching job? What the heck for?" he wailed. "He left me all alone? With all the crazy people here? WHY?"

Scotland was about to retort that America was most probably the reason England went ahead and took the job in the first place when France interrupted him. "Calm down, America. I'm sure we can still contact Anglettere wherever he is right now, non?"

Scotland's temper was rising. "England said that no one was to contact him or disturb him when he was away. After all, you guys were most probably the reason why he had to take a break in the first place." Scotland wanted to add a little more insults into that sentence but decided against it.

Now it was France's turn to complain. "What? Am I so terrible to Anglettere that he needs to take a break for a few months away from me? This is terrible!" A random spotlight shone on France as he sobbed his heart out, and unless Scotland was mistaken, he also saw sparkles around France.

"So," Japan bit his lip. "We have no means whatsoever to contact England?"

"What do you want to contact him for anyway?" Scotland asked in a bored voice, tipping his chair backwards and balancing it on two legs, something that England really hated and constantly berated him for. "Troll him? Piss him off? Humiliate him at his new job?"

America laughed cheerily. "Something like that, I guess."

France nodded in agreement at Scotland's last statement.

Russia smiled creepily.

China had a strangely sinister smirk on him.

Scotland couldn't help but wonder what just exactly his brother had done to make everyone so eager to embarrass him at every single opportunity that came by. He looked around the conference table. Every nation (except Germany, who had excused himself the moment he knew how the conference was going to turn out) was staring intently at Scotland, expecting him to help them to contact (troll? Humiliate? Piss off?) England.

"I don't think I should do this..." Scotland hesitated.

"Aw come on!" America urged Scotland. "Just once! We won't disturb him again after that!"

"Maybe because you'll be dead by then." Scotland thought with a snort. A devious plan was starting to form in his head. Out loud, he said. "Well, there is a way to contact him if you really want to..."

"Really?" America yelled. "Cool! Tell me! Quick!"

Scotland's moment of hesitation was gone. In its place was a certain smugness at the thought that he was going to be able to finally pay back his little brother for his insults about Nessie. From his pocket, he withdrew a red envelope.

"Anyone has an owl?"

* * *

Harry stared at Professor Kirkland. Unless his ears had just deceived him, the flying mint bunny had just called his teacher "England".

"Professor?" Hermione asked "Did the flying mint bunny called you 'England'?"

The professor had turned pale. "Er...yes, t-that's because my... middle name is... England." he stuttered. "Ehm, so don't be surprised if the magical creatures call me England sometimes."

"Why would they call you by their middle name?" Malfoy drawled. "Won't it be more logical for them to call you by your first name?"

"Why you-" The professor caught himself in time. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. And no more chattering about my private life."

"We weren't talking about your private life-" Malfoy started but was cut off by Professor Kirkland saying. "And as punishment, Mr. Malfoy, you'll be the first person to feed my flying mint bunny."

The whole class sniggered. This was going to be interesting..

Malfoy smirked. "That's it, sir? You're just going to make me feed the bunny...sir?"

"Yes." Professor Kirkland said primly. "Now, tell me the regular diet of a flying mint bunny."

"What?" The expression on Malfoy's face obviously showed that he thought that he had misheard the professor. "Regular diet?"

Harry couldn't help but grin. Malfoy was really getting it from the professor.

"Uh.." Malfoy stammered. "It's a bunny, right? So, it... eats vegetables and carrots and all that other stuff a bunny eats, doesn't it?"

"Wrong." The professor deadpanned, ignoring the furious looks Malfoy shoot in his direction. "Anyone else knows?"

As usual, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

Professor Kirkland nodded, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"The-flying-mint-bunny-regular-diet-consists-of-sweet-food-like-chocolate-and-sweets." Hermione answered in one breathe.

The professor looked impressed. "Very good, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. As Miss Granger has said, the flying mint bunny has a sweet tooth, and no, it doesn't likes vegetables." The professor glared at Malfoy as he finished his sentence.

Malfoy flushed red, his expression furious. "And how was I supposed to know that?" he whispered to Crabbe and Goyle. "I'm not a bookworm like that Mudblood Granger!"

"Well first, Mr, Malfoy, you could've at least opened up your textbook to page one hundred and seventy-six." Professor Kirkland said, his sharp ears picking up everything Malfoy had said. "And please do not used the word 'mudblood' in front of me. I do not approve of that word."

Harry's approval rating of Professor Kirkland shot up.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy." The professor said briskly. Out of his pocket came a Chocolate Frog, which he promptly handed to a fuming Malfoy. "Approach the flying mint bunny carefully. Don't rush in and act hastily, or it might bite you."

Malfoy jerked upwards in shock. "I-it bites?"

"Most creatures bite, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Kirkland said, a trace of annoyance creeping into his tone of voice. "Unless you've been spending your entire life with Flobberworms, I'll excuse your pathetic question."

"Woah." Ron whispered to Harry. "That's one scary professor."

"No whispering back there, Ronald Weasley." Professor Kirkland said, his back still turned to the Gryffindors.

Ron's ears turned red. "How did he know my name?" he squeaked to Harry.

Harry shrugged. He wasn't going to reply and risk getting caught by the professor for talking.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy. Go closer to the flying mint bunny." The professor said.

Malfoy inched closer to the bunny, terror written clearly on his face. The bunny perked up its long, green ears as it stared curiously at the new, strange creature before it.

"H-here, bunny." Malfoy said and stretched out his shaking hand which held the chocolate frog to the bunny. "H-have a chocolate frog. Just d-don't bite me, alright?"

Harry clapped both hands over his mouth to stop the laughter from coming out of it. Beside him, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigian were also doing the same thing, their faces turning blue from the enormous effort required.

The bunny moved closer to Malfoy, its eyes on the chocolate frog in Malfoy's hand. With a sudden jerk of its head, it snapped at the chocolate frog and bit off almost half of it.

Malfoy yelled at what he saw was an attempt by the flying mint bunny to bite his hand off. He stumbled backwards and tripped, his arms flailing. The bunny, needless to say, was startled. It snarled at Malfoy and jumped on him.

What followed next was too fast for Harry to see. All he managed to see was the professor lunging at Malfoy at an inhuman speed, and a blur of green as the professor tried to pry the bunny off Malfoy's leg, from which it was hanging precariously from. A second later, the professor was standing up, the bunny being held by its neck. Nearby, Malfoy whimpered and clutched his bleeding leg, the blood from his leg staining the grass he was lying on.

Professor Kirkland threw the bunny into the air, and in front of the shocked students' eyes, it shimmered and melted into thin air. The professor then crouched down and scooped up Malfoy with surprising ease. He looked at the silent students before him. "I am really sorry for this. " he apologised to them. "Class is dismissed." With that, he sprinted towards the castle with Malfoy in his hands, leaving his class behind.

The entire class waited until Professor Kirkland was out of sight before bursting into activity.

"What a professor!" Pansy Parkinson said, a sneer on her face. "Flying mint bunny, indeed! He can't even teach us anything decent! He's just like that oaf Hagrid, getting his students hurt all the time."

"Excuse me." Hermione said, putting her hands on her hip while glaring at Parkinson. "He just taught us for one lesson. Don't judge him by just one lesson alone. And besides, it was Malfoy's own fault. He went and scare the bunny, not the professor."

"I bet Malfoy's probably faking it again." Ron butted into the conversation, which was fast turning into a glaring contest. "Remember that time with Buckbeak?"

"Oh, defend the professor all you want." Parkinson scoffed. "I'm going to the hospital wing to see if Draco's fine!" With that, she turned her back on Ron and Hermione and started walking back to the castle. Slowly, after Parkinson had left, the class dispersed. Soon, only Ron, Hermione and Harry was left.

Hermione turned to Ron and Harry. "Well, that was a little... unfortunate." she said, disappointed. "We didn't get to learn much. He's nice though, don't you think so?"

"And really blunt too." Ron said. "Come to think of it, how did he know all our names? He didn't ask us either."

"Maybe he saw the name register." Harry suggested.

Ron wasn't satisfied. "Don't think so." he said.

"Ron." Hermione said in an exasperated tone of voice as the trio headed back to Gryffindor tower for a rest before their next lesson. "Will you stop worrying about such trivial matters? You should worry about other things like, say... OWLs, for example."

"I'll do a back flip before I start worrying about OWLs so early in the school term." Ron whispered confidentially to Harry.

* * *

_Father,_

_You might've heard this from the Minister of Magic by now, but there's a filthy muggle by the name of Arthur England Kirkland who is teaching Care of Magical Creatures in place of that giant oaf, Hagrid. For your information, he's even worse than that Hagrid, and most definitely ruder. I'm most curious as to how a muggle like him is even allowed inside Hogwarts, or the reason why he can even see Hogwarts in the first place. If I'm not mistaken, this is a serious breach of the International Security Act as muggles should not even know about our existence. I hope that you can me some inside information about this... muggle from the Minister. I'll most appreciate it._

_Draco._

Malfoy's lip curled as he sealed up the letter. It was almost midnight, and he was in the hospital wing. Silently, he slipped out of the hospital bed and softly made his way to the Owlvery to send his letter.

* * *

It was around the same time that Malfoy sent his letter that Umbridge received hers.

The letter came just as Umbridge was busy sorting out her office. After all, she'd just moved in a day ago. It was then she saw the brown owl pecking on her office window, its hoots a little distorted by the glass separating them. Umbridge opened the window and the owl flew in. It stood on Umbridge's beatly arranged table, messing it up in the process and held out its leg with the letter tied to it. Umbridge untied the letter, and the owl quickly flew out of the window, feeling rather satisfies with itself.

The letter was short, yet important. It read:

_Dolores,_

_I've heard from some sources that there is a muggle called Arthur Kirkland who is working as your colleague as the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures. I will be most pleased if you can investigate him and find out if he's in league with Dumbledore and his Order Of the Phoenix. If he is, then by all means, do whatever that is in your power to get rid of him. I will lend you my assistance if you require it._

_Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4- What? A Howler's On The Way To Me?** _

England pushed open his door, a gloomy atmosphere hanging around him. Once inside his room, he kicked off his boots and laid them neatly by the fireplace. He took the box of matches that Dumbledore had kindly provided for him from atop the mantelpiece and within a minute, had a fire crackling merrily in his fireplace. Warmth soon filled the room but he, England, was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice it as he sank onto the chair in front of the fireplace, a blinding headache building up in his head.

"England?" A small voice interrupted his train of thoughts as he looked up and saw the flying mint bunny staring at him curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?" England sighed. "Look here, cutie. I really appreciate you coming here and trying to cheer me up... but I... I just need some time alone for today."

The flying mint bunny looked slightly crestfallen, but it seemed to understood him. "Sure thing, England." it said. With a faint 'pop', the magical creature disappeared into thin air.

England stared at the fire for a while, his eyes slightly glazed over as he recalled the lesson that he'd taught today. Maybe he really was getting old, but he was finding it slightly difficult to teach a big class. Or maybe he just wasn't used to teaching such big classes. Either way, because of his rusty teaching skills, a boy had got bitten by the flying mint bunny. Even as he recalled the incident, England couldn't help but groan and put his head in his hands. How could he be so careless? England felt like beating himself up and jumping off a building. A student getting hurt on his first day itself wasn't a good omen. Call him superstitious or whatever, but England was beginning to think that maybe,  _just_  maybe, coming here to Hogwarts to teach for a year was a bad idea.

Of course, he had considered it a good idea in the first place. What better way to get in touch with the wizarding community in his country (even though Hogwarts was technically in Scotland's land, a fact that he really loved to rub into England. "Hah! Your wizarding folks finally decided that my place is better than yours!". "Shut up, wanker!") than teaching and interacting with them?

Of course, over the years, England had preferred to let his own wizarding government take care of the affairs of their community. His own government (or the muggle government, as it was known by the wizarding community) was troublesome enough, and he just couldn't afford running between the both of them at the same time.

Naturally though, over the years, discord and corruption had silently crept into the Ministry of Magic. And England, used as he was to seeing the same situation in his Muggle government, was slightly mortified by the situation the Ministry of Magic had dug itself into. By denying that Voldemort (England winced slightly as he thought of the damage that that particular Dark wizard had done to him years ago) had once again risen and was prowling around freely, the dear Minister of Magic had exposed the entire wizarding community to attacks from Voldemort and his equally insane followers. Thank God most of them were still in Azkaban, but England doubted that they would stay for long in there, what with the ever hungry Dementors as the prison guards. One nice offer by Voldemort, and the Dementors would turn on their former employers in the blink of an eye. Then all hell wil break loose. And England would have to submit himself to America and France's taunts, jibes and insults about his pathetic Ministry of Magic and their even more pathetic ways of dealing with Dark Wizards.

England's mind was spinning as he thought of all these dire events, and he was almost half-asleep already as he stared at the flames jumping and leaping in the fireplace. Hmmm, it was really warm... and he could briefly see images of the head of his other annoying brother Wales flickering in the fireplace, grinning at him... wait, what?

England shook himself out of his dreamlike trance and stared at the fireplace. At the same time, the head of Wales in the fireplace yelled at him "UP AND AT IT ENGLAND! IT'S ONLY FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON!"

England was nearly blasted out of his room by the volume of Wales' yell. When he finally recovered, he stood up and grabbed the basin of water on the table near his bed, stomped to his fireplace and spoke in a menacing voice to the flickering head of Wales in the fire. "You. Have. Ten. Seconds. Before. I. Pour. This. On. You. What do you think you're doing in my fireplace? And what's with five in the afternoon? It's almost midnight already!"

Wales looked offended. "Whoa dude, slow down. Take a deep breathe, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale..."

"Eight seconds."

"Hey!" Wales exclaimed. "Calm down! I have something really important to tell you, or I won't even bother trying to communicate with you via Floo Powder! I'll just leave you to rot, die of embarrassment, get mocked at, laughed at..."

"Five seconds."

Wales rolled his eyes. "Dude, seriously, you're so uptight. I'm here to warn you about something that'll most probably get me busted by Scottie, but hey, that's what brothers are for right?"

England's interest was roused. He lowered the basin of water. "And what exactly is it that you're here to warn me about that'll get you busted by Scotland? And," England frowned as he saw Wales' background. "Are you in America's house by any chance?"

Wales had a knowing smirk on his smile. "Ah yes, I followed your boyfriend home to borrow his fireplace after the world conference... don't get all jealous now..."

England nearly dropped the basin of water. "Wh-what the bloody hell are you talking about, git?" he spluttered. He could feel his cheeks turning pink. "T-that's beside the point! Isn't Scotland the one supposed to represent me, not you? What are you doing in New York then?"

Wales' smirk was widening. "Well, Scottie couldn't exactly handle the post world conference party, so I took over for him. He's currently in his room taking a shower with Nessie. Want me to call him?"

"Taking a bath with Nessie?" England's expression was blank. "How- Wait, I don't even want to know that. And don't change the subject. What're you here to tell me about?"

Wales was serious now. "I heard from Scottie before he flipped out that you're going to receive a Howler tomorrow, and boy, did they send you one heck of a Howler!" At that point, Wales' serious expression fell apart and he started cackling like mad. "Sorry bro, but I just can't help myself after hearing from Scottie what they wrote on the Howler. I highly recommend you run somewhere isolated and free of humans when you open the Howler, or said humans might just throw you into the mental asylum and label you as a raving lunatic. Well, that is, if they judge you by what the Howler yells about you."

"A HOWLER?" Wales cringed as England roared at him. "Why the bloody hell did Scotland give them a Howler?"

"Uh-" Wales stuttered. "I think he wanted to get back at you for giving him a dress for his birthday... you know, the one with pink ribbons and white lace on it?"

"He deserved it!" England seethed, attempting to control his volume of voice. It wouldn't do if he woke up any of the students or teachers. "He's always wearing that bloody kilt of his anyway! Wearing a dress is no different than wearing a kilt."

"Keep telling yourself that, bro." Wales muttered.

England tried to calm himself down. He took a few deep breathes and exhaled. Finally, when he trusted himself fully again to speak rationally, he said. "So, they wrote a Howler to me. Well, I'll just dump it straight into the fire when it arrives. Hey... wait a minute..." England stared at Wales in the fireplace. "Why are you even telling me this in the first place? For all I know, you could've been the one that gave _them_  the Howler!"

"No I did _not_!" Wales said, clearly offended. "If I was going to humiliate you, I would've thought up of something more creative than using a Howler. And I just wanted Scottie to fail in humiliating you, that's why I took the liberty to contact and warn you. After all, we're brothers, aren't we?"

"You said that the last time before I went to the my bed and found it filled with poisonous scorpions,  _brother_." England's emphasis on the last word could clearly be heard. "And isn't Scotland your brother too?"

Wales waved off England's last comment. "Who gives a damn about Scottie? And oh man, you still remember about that scorpions? Bah, you always were one to hold a grudge for a really long time." Wales laughed cheerily at England's sour face. "And let's clear up a few things. One. It wasn't me that pulled the prank. It was me  _and_  Ireland. Two. North Ireland thought up of that idea. Not me. Get it? Not me. North Ireland. And third. Can't I be nice for a change?"

England hefted up the basin of water, allowing a few drops to fall onto the fireplace. "Get on with our main topic, fool."

"Meanie." Wales pouted. "I could just end the conversation now... but since I want to win the bet, I'll just warn you that France and America wrote something in the Howler too."

"What bet?" England's mind then processed Wales' entire sentence. "WHAT? The Frenchie and the Yankee wrote in it too? I thought Scotland just wrote everything himself!"

"No way Scottie would do that. He's a lazy pig and you know it." Wales waved off England's desperate shouting. "And no, I can't do anything about the Howler. They sent it already."

"Great." England slumped onto the floor. "Just great. I took up this job because I though I'd do a favour for Dumbledore and take a break from being a nation for just a while. Then BOOM. The flying mint bunny goes and takes a bite out of a boy, the whole school thinks I'm a nutcase, and a Howler filled with all kinds of unknown nonsense is on the way to me, courtesy of that Scottish fool, Yankee, and Frenchie. What next? Getting arrested by my very own Ministry of Magic?"

Wales tilted his head to one side, his eyes mischievously glinting. "A bedful of scorpions?" he suggested slyly.

"Don't you dare." England growled.

Wales laughed. "Don't worry, bro. I was never one to use the same prank twice."

England stood up from his sitting position on the floor. "I swear, when I get my hands on your filty throat-" England suddenly cut off. "Hey, is someone banging something over at your side?"

Wales frowned and glanced behind before facing England again. "No. It's coming from your side. The only thing I can hear from here is America swearing because he dropped a glass of water on the floor."

England cocked his head. "Shut up for a moment, Wales." he snapped. Bang bang. He could hear it very clearly now. "I think someone's knocking on my door."

"You mean knocking  _down_  your door, brother." Wales replied. "You better go and- HEY WHAT THE F*** DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DO-" Wales' last words were cut off as England emptied the basin of water onto the fire, effectively putting out the fire and cutting off Wales. Even as England walked to the door to open it, he couldn't help but feel smug about how he had finally managed to pay back Wales for his April Fool prank. If there was one thing Wale hated the most in the entire world, it was being cut off halfway in his idle chatting.

"Coming!" England called out. He grasped the iron ring set into the wood of the door that was being used as a doorknob and swung open the door. And promptly found himself face to face with a pink bow set on iron grey curls. "Er..."

Dolores Umbridge smiled up at England. "I'm sorry to disturb you at a time like this, Professor Kirkland." she said in a high, girlish voice. "I'm Professor Dolores Umbridge and I teach Defense Against The Dark Arts."

England bowed his head in aknowledgement. At the same time, he was fighting the urge to slam the door in her smiling face. "Is there anything I can do for you, professor?"

"Yes." Umbridge continued smiling at England, but her eyes showed no emotion. They were blank. "We need to have a little talk."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- In Which Umbridge Does A Lot of Talking

England stared down at Umbridge for about a second in stunned silence. When that had passed, he spoke. "A little talk, professor?" he said politely. "I don't see why we can't talk tomorrow during breakfast."

Umbridge's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Were you busy talking to someone else, Professor Kirkland?"

"No." England said, perhaps a little too quickly. He resisted the urge to turn behind and look at the soaking wet fireplace. He knew that Umbridge had most probably noticed it by now. "I wasn't talking to anybody."

Umbridge nodded and smiled. "Good. This is an urgent matter I have to discuss with you pertaining your position as teacher for Care of Magical Creatures."

England reluctantly opened his door a little wider as Umbridge inched closer to him, a smile still on her face. "Is there something wrong regarding my position, Professor Umbridge?"

"Just today, I received a complaint from a student." Umbridge said, without indicating that she had heard England at all. Her eyes were still staring into England's own, but shifted away after a few seconds, as though she could not bear to look into his eyes. "He claimed that you were negligent and incompetent as a professor in caring about the safety of your students. As proof, he has been said to have been bitten by one of your magical creatures and is now currently in hospital."

England arched one bushy eyebrow. The Malfoy boy was really living up to his family's reputation. "I admit that one of my magical creatures did indeed bite Draco Malfoy this morning."

Umbridge's voice was triumphant. It was as though she had imagined herself gaining the upper hand over England. "You do know that this year, we at the Ministry are monitoring Hogwarts very closely to prevent incidents like this from happening? But of course," her smile grew into a smirk. "A mere muggle like you would be oblivious to the happenings of the wizarding world."

England was getting just a little annoyed. "Professor Umbridge, muggles make up the general population of this world. I will appreciate it very much if you don't put them down just because you are superior to them." His green eyes narrowed. "Or is the Ministry starting to legalise muggle hunting and the casting out of Muggle borns?"

Umbridge's smile disappeared instantly. "You seem to be very...well informed, Professor Kirkland."

England smiled, a smile that was tired and sad. It was the smile of one who had endured hardships and pain for centuries. To Umbridge, it certainly seemed out of place on the young professor's face. "Well, I do have some ears in the Ministry after all, Professor Umbridge. Or should I say, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic?"

Umbridge blinked in surprise for a moment before recomposing herself. "Since you seem to be so knowledgeable about the Ministry of Magic, professor, you should know that we at the Ministry are...ah, concerned about the way Hogwarts is currently being run. In order to maintain the good image of the school and uphold its standards, all teachers are required to submit a brief summary about their background, past teaching experiences and their opinion on the current state of the school."

"Is that all?" England asked. He doubted that that was everything the Ministry had ordered Umbridge to do to her fellow colleagues.

"Oh no, Professor Kirkland." Umbridge said. "All the professors here in the school, except for me, will have to submit themselves to Ministry inspections. Yes, professor. Inspections." Umbridge's smile widened as England's eyes became larger. "If the Minister does not think that you're up to scratch, based on the reports of my inspections, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to dismiss you from your teaching post." She batted her eyelashes at England. "Who knows? The Minister himself might attend some of the inspections."

England could hardly believe his ears, but he had no choice but to play along. For the time being, that is. "I will make sure not to disappoint you then, Dolores." he said, the double meaning in his sentence clearly evident.

"Good!" Umbridge trilled in her high pitched, girlish voice. "Since you were the only one absent during the orientation for any new professors, I thought I'd fill you in on some of the things you might've missed during that time. Good night then, Professor Kirkland."

England watched as Umbridge walked down the corridor from his sleeping quarters, a bounce in her steps. She was obviously happy that she had managed to unnerve him, he though silently as he closed the door softly. He locked the door, and stumbled over to his bed, yawning loudly as he went. He undressed, hung his clothes on the hangers in the wardrobe, and slipped into his pajamas. When he was done, he snuggled into the warm bed, pulling the bed sheets over himself as he plumped up the pillows.

After he was done, England stared up at the ceiling of his room, his thoughts all jumbled up. He contemplated whether he should just give up on his post and go away from Hogwarts... if the Ministry of Magic turned out to be too nosy, his secret would most certainly be exposed...

No. He couldn't do that. The wizarding community needed him. They were in greater danger than they'd ever been in fourteen years. He had been away from them for far too long, trusting that they could handle and take care of themselves. But they had almost crumbled all those years ago because he had not been there when they needed him the most. Not this time though, England silently swore. Nobody will die needlessly again in the upcoming war. It won't be like the last time.

Slowly, his green eyes fluttered shut as he slipped into the blissful obliviousness of sleep.

* * *

_Fourteen years ago, London._

Blood stained the white handkerchief England was holding as he coughed violently. His face was thin and even paler than usual. Even his usually bushy eyebrows seemed to have wilted. His hands trembled as he used the handkerchief to wipe away the trail of blood from his mouth.

Wales looked at his brother, concern for the other mirrored in his eyes. "England..." he said softly, but loud enough to be heard by his brother. "This can't go on forever. At the rate you're going, you're not going to last another month or two."

England coughed again, but thankfully, no blood came out this time. "I won't die so easily, idiot! I've gone through much worse before. Even if my entire wizarding community was wiped off the face of earth, I won'te die. The normal people will still be there."

Scotland sat grimly opposite England on the other side of the table. He too had lost quite a bit of weight and was pale, but when he spoke, it was in his usual rough yet firm voice. "We have to do something about him, England. You can't keep running away from it. At this rate..."

"No!" England stood up suddenly, throwing his chair back by a whole metre as he glared at Scotland. "We can't! You of all people should know that we are not allowed to directly interfere in the affairs of humans! This-" England coughed. "I'll get through this eventually. Voldemort will die sooner or later. He is but another human. He is not immortal. No human can live forever."

Scotland had gone rigid in his seat, his hand clenching tightly onto the white tablecloth. "Be that as it may, England." he said stiffly. "But remember this. He might be human, but he is also a wizard. I have heard some rumours from the underworld that Voldemort might,  _just_  might, have discovered a form of very dark magic that might allow him to live forever."

England's eyes widened. "No. That's impossible."

"It's just a rumour though." Scotland said. "You however, have to face the fact that your entire wizarding community is now in chaos because of him. Every day, more wizards and witches are dying or just disappearing. And you! Even though you keep denying it, you are falling critically ill because of the situation your wizarding community is going through! If we don't at least do something to stop him-" Scotland paused as he himslef started coughing violently. It wasn't until Ireland thumped him on the back that he managed to recover from his coughing fit. "We are all going to fall sick soon because of this, England. Much as I hate to admit this, but we're interwined too much with each other that whatever happens to one of us will affect all of us..."

"Scotty..." Wales spoke up. "We really can't do much about this...Voldemort. The Ministry of Mafic is in a state of confusion right now. They won't accept our help even if we told them about ourselves, which is out of the question."

"I know!" Scotland replied heatedly. "But I'm worried about.." He looked away for a moment, as though whatever he was going to say next was about to damage his reputation as the mean, older brother. "I'm just worried about England's health. And this in turn will also affect the normal people, in case you haven't figured that out yet, Wales."

"Did you think that I did not know that?" Wales retorted, crossing his arms as he glared at his taller brother. "I am also just as concerned as you are about this, you know!"

"Well then maybe you can suggest how we can deal with this dark wizard rather than shooting down all my suggestions!" Scotland snarled.

"Most of your suggestions don't make much sense anyway!" Wales said, his voice rising in response to Scotland's.

"Then you make your own suggestions!" Scotland was standing now, his eyes full of fire. "Since all my suggestions are nonsense, according to you!"

"Guys..." Ireland tried to pull Scotland back down onto his seat. "Please... calm down..."

"Stay out of this, ya Irish eejit!" Scotland yelled as he tried to squirm out of Ireland's iron grip on his shoulders. "I'm going to give that stuck up oh-so-high Welsh brat a knuckle sandwich in the face!"

"Go on and try it then!" Wales yelled back. "I dare you to!"

"SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!"

Silence reigned after that comment. Wales, Scotland and Ireland stared at England in silence as he glared at each of them in turn. "Can't we bloody well settle anything without any fighting involved?" England growled. "I have a world conference to attend after this, so stop bloody wasting my time, wankers!"

"He's right." Ireland said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Again."

England turned on Ireland. "Well, at least someone in this room has to have some bloody common sense, don't they-" At that moment, England's eyes bulged as he grabbed the table for support and started coughing again. But this time, all his brothers could sense that something was wrong. England was coughing up mouthful after mouthful of blood, and there seemed to be no end to it. Even as Wales and Ireland rushed to his side and tried to support him as he collapsed, he was still spitting out blood. The white tablecloth turned crimson, the red stains spreading slowly.

"Scotty!" Wales yelled at his brother, away from his other brother, who was barely conscious after losing so much blood in such a short amount of time. "Help us get him to his bedroom! Something's really wrong with him this time!"

England tried to control his coughing and retching, but it was no use. Blood was still dribbling out of the corner of his mouth as his coughing subsided temporarily. He barely noticed as Scotland picked him up in his arms and carried him out of the living room. All he knew was that something had most probably happened in his country...something big. Something that was about to change the fate of his wizarding community forever.

* * *

_Present day, Hogwarts_

It was raining the next day. The sky was a gloomy grey, and it reflected perfectly Harry's mood that day.

Ron tried to cheer Harry up without much success. "Come on Harry, no use being so down about something that happened yesterday. We can't change it even if we wanted to."

"Easy for you to say." Harry mumbled darkly as he, Ron and Hermione descended the grand staircase in the entrance hall on their way down from Gryffindor tower to the Great Hall for breakfast. "You weren't the one who got all those detentions with that Umbridge woman."

"I warned you, didn't I?" Hermione said loftily. "Umbridge was sent by Fudge to interfere in Hogwarts! You shouldn't have shouted at her like you did yesterday."

"I know, I know!" Harry snapped at Hermione before he even realised it. "I was just telling her the truth about Cedric's death! It wasn't a 'tragic accident', as she so kindly put it!"

Hermione wore a hurt expression. "We believe you, Harry." she said. "But please, for your sake, don't go around shouting about it in front of Umbridge. She'll find any excuse she can to put you down, or if you continue defying her, you might just get..."

"Expelled." Ron helpfully chipped in. "But I don't think Dumbledore will kick you out from the school over something as trivial as arguing with another teacher."

"No, Dumbledore won't." Hermione said. "Umbridge will. Just you wait. The Minister of Magic will most probably give her some power over the decision making process in the school soon."

"Thanks a lot." Harry said sarcastically to his two best friends as they cut across the entrance hall. "You really helped to lift my mo-" Harry was glancing backwards at Ron and Hermione as he talked, and before he knew it, he had ran into something really warm and soft in front of him. "Oof."

Professor Kirkland's bushy eyebrows lifted up as he looked behind to see who had ran into him. "Penny for your thoughts, Potter?" he asked.

"Sorry, Professor Kirkland." Harry apologised as he bent down to retrieve his school bag which had fallen onto the floor when he had ran into the young professor. "I was just thinking about... something." As Harry looked up from his position on the floor into the professor's emerald green eyes, he was suddenly struck by how old those eyes were. Even though the professor himself was very young and still very much youthful, Harry couldn't help but feel as though within the professor himself was a very old and wise man, one who had seen almost everything to be seen in the world. And even as these thoughts were running through Harry's mind, he couldn't shake off a sense of familiarity, as though the professor was a very old friend, albeit one he had forgotten aboout until now...

Professor Kirkland offered a hand to Harry, which Harry gratefully accepted after he snapped himself out of his musings. Depsite his small size, the professor was unexpectedly strong as he pulled Harry up. "I heard you argued with Dolores Umbridge yesterday during Defense of the Dark Arts." he said sympathetically.

Harry wasn't surprised at all the professor knew. Umbridge had most probably spread the news of his shouting match at her to the staff last night. "Yes I did, sir" he admitted. For reasons unknown, the way the professor was looking at him was making Harry feel very uncomfortable and fidgety. And even though he didn't know why he said it, Harry mumbled "Sorry." at the end of his sentence.

Professor Kirkland looked amused. "No need for any apologies, Potter. I wasn't the one you were shouting at after all." A thoughful expression crossed the professor's face. "Incidentally though, I will like to advise you to be a little more careful about your choice of topic whenever you're around Professor Umbridge, Potter. It just wouldn't do if the famous Harry Potter got himself expelled, no? Especially after the Dementor case this summer."

Harry, judging by Ron and Hermione's similar expressions, wasn't the only one who was surprised that the professor knew about his run in with the Dementors during his summer holidays. "Did Professor Dumbledore tell you about it?" he asked curiously.

The professor hesitated for a moment before answering Harry's question. "Why yes, I suppose so." he said so quietly Harry had to strain his ears to catch what the professor was saying. Suddenly, the professor cleared his throat, startling Harry. "Well, you three had better get going. I don't want to hold you all of you back from breakfast." The professor glanced at Ron when he said that, a small smile on his face. Ron looked slightly bashful. "Go on, then. And good day to the three of you." He waved them towards the Great Hall, a sign of clear dismissal.

"Good day to you too, sir."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5- A Howler And Declarations of War

As Harry, Ron and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, Harry could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes trained on them as they walked to the Gryffindor table for breakfast. As they walked past, some students whispered uneasily to each other, and Harry bet his entire Gringotts account that they were talking about him. And it didn't help that they weren't trying to be discreet either.

"Did you hear what he told Umbridge...?"

"Oh please. He just wants attention."

"He said You-Know-Who is back..."

Harry attempted to shut out the whispers of the students, but his hands were trembling with silent anger as he sat down on the bench of Gryffindor table and started buttering his toast viciously.

Hermione frowned. "Why don't they at least try to keep their voices down if they're talking badly about someone else?" she hissed.

Harry shook his head, "Don't know." he muttered, "You're the prefect. Why don't you go and ask them?"

"I may be a prefect, Harry, but I just can't go up to them and ask!" Hermione shot back. "They have the right to talk about whatever they want, no matter how degrading it can get. I can't stop them from that."

"Shame." Harry said under his breath as he started munching on his toast gloomily. Next to him, Ron was staring at the ceiling of the Great Hall, dolefully chewing on some cereal. It wasn't until the delivery owls flew into the Great Hall, showering the students with droplets of water and letters did Harry break out of his anger-induced trance. He looked up, hoping against hope that just maybe, Sirius had sent a letter to him...

"Psst! Harry!" Ron shook Harry's arm, forcing Harry to look at his face.

"What now?" Harry snapped, somewhat irritated.

Ron pointed up. "Someone got a Howler." he said, a strange mixture of fear and glee on his face. The fear was most probably because he was scared that his mother had sent the Howler (even though he technically hadn't done anything wrong...yet) just like she'd did once before in his second year. The glee, however... well, Harry didn't want to think too much about it.

Harry followed Ron's example and looked up. He soon spotted the owl with the red Howler. The owl itself was a tawny brown, And it was obviously lost, as it hooted mournfully and circled around the Great Hall looking for its recipient. Harry noticed too that the feathers of the owl stood up at weird angles, as though someone had caught it and scuffled with it before force tying the Howler to its leg. Harry then watched as the owl suddenly stopped circling the Great Hall. It just hovered there for a few seconds before shooting like a bullet towards the entrance of the Great Hall, where many students were still streaming in for breakfast.

By now, most of the students in the Great Hall had noticed the owl. They were pointing and laughing at it as it rocketed towards the entrance, dripping little droplets of water as it flew and causing some yelling from those students unfortunate enough to get hit by the droplets.

Harry barely noticed the horrified look on Professor Kirkland's face as he entered the Great Hall only to find an owl flying at roughly the speed of light directly at his face. Harry was too busy cracking up at Ron's relieved expression as he realised that the Howler was not from his mother.

The owl dropped the Howler on Professor's Kirkland's head and immediately took off, wobbling slightly as it flew out of one of the many windows of the Great Hall.

The Howler wasn't a patient one. The moment it hit Professor Kirkland's head, it started smoking almost immediately. Looking slightly panicked, the professor fumbled with the letter before he remembered that he was in the Great Hall, where literally thousands of students and the other professors (especially Professor Umbridge) could hear every single word the Howler was going to yell at him. Amid the rising voices and discussions from the students, he dashed out of the Great Hall, all the while holding the Howler an arm's length away from him as though it was a delicate piece of glassware. Sadly however, the professor only managed to advance only a few steps forward before the Howler burst into flames right in his hands. The professor instantly released the Howler and let it fall, flames and all, onto the marble floor.

Professor Dumbledore, who had been looking at the boiling situation with a slightly amused look the whole time, suddenly stuffed his fingers into his ears. Likewise, most of the professors followed his example, except for Professor Umbridge and Snape. Both were clearly interested in hearing what the Howler had to say to Professor Kirkland.

Harry vaguely wondered if he should follow Professor Dumbledore's example. Part of him said yes, while the other part urged him to stay put. His raging curiosity to find out about Professor Kirkland finally won over his common sense.

Harry soon regretted his decision when a booming voice began to scream in Professor Kirkland's face, nearly bursting Harry's eardrums. "ARTHUR KIRKLAND!" the voice screeched, its thick Scottish accent mangling the name a little. "F*** YA, YOU LOWLANDER PUSSY!"

Everybody listening to the Howler almost instantly wilted from the force of the Howler and the usage of very colourful language except for Professor Umbridge and Snape. Professor Dumbledore looked supremely unconcerned.

The Howler continued its explosive rant. "HOW DARE YOU SEND ME IN YOUR PLACE FOR THOSE WORLD MEETING OF YOURS WITHOUT ANY INSTRUCTIONS, YA OLD CODGER! AYE, MUST'VE SLIPPED YOUR MIND EH, F***ING LOWLANDER! DIDN'T BOTHER SENDING ME YOUR LATEST MEMOS ABOUT THE MEETINGS HUH? BLIMEY, HAVE YOU ANY IDEA OF THE CRAP I HAT TO PUT UP FOR YOUR SAKE? I BET YA DID THAT ALL ON PURPOSE, YER SORRY EXCUSE OF A PUSSY! AYE, YER SO DEAD WHEN I GET TO YOU, ARTHUR KIRKLAND!"

Harry's eardrums were throbbing. He groaned and massaged them. Next to him, Ron was in the same exact situation. But the Howler wasn't finished yet.

"ARTIE!" The Howler screamed. Harry noticed that the thick Scottish accent was gone, and had been replaced by an American accent. "YOUR OLDER BRO TOLD US THAT YOU WENT AND TOOK UP A JOB! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM DUDE? DO YOU HATE ME OR WHAT? IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT ONE TIME I POURED COKE INTO YOUR DISGUSTING TEA AND MADE IT WAY BETTER? COME BACK TO ME SOON, ARTIE! I REALLY REALLY REALLY MISS YOU! IF I DON'T HEAR FROM YOU SOON, I'M GONNA GATECRASH THAT SCHOOL OF YOURS AND COME TO SEE YOU! HAHAHAHAHA!"

The most annoying laugh Harry had ever heard filled the entire Great Hall, echoes of it bouncing off the walls. But the Howler still wasn't done with torturing the poor professor yet.

"Ohonhon~  _ANGLETERRE_ ,  _MON AMI_!" A French accent replaced the American accent. It was just as equally annoying. "WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED  _MOI_  WITH ALL THESE UNINTELLIGENT PEOPLE HERE WITHOUT WARNING  _MOI_? IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU HAVE GROWN TIRED OF  _MOI_  AFTER ALL THESE LONG YEARS TOGETHER? EVEN THOUGH WE ALWAYS USED TO FIGHT OVER SUCH TRIVIAL MATTERS, I STILL CONSIDER YOU TO BE MY FRIEND! OF COURSE, YOU STILL MAKE  _MOI_  ANGRY SOMETIMES, BUT WE'RE STILL FRIENDS RIGHT? AND SINCE WE'RE FRIENDS, I'M SURE YOU WON'T MIND IF I OCCASIONALLY PAY YOU A LITTLE VISIT AT YOUR NEW TEACHING JOB,  _ANGLETERRE_! OHONHONHON~!"

Harry couldn't help but wonder where the heck had Professor Kirkland picked up such barmy friends.

The Howler, seeing as it had apparently finished whatever it was supposed to yell at Professor Kirkland, suddenly flared white and burned itself out. All that was left of it was a small pile of ashes lying at the feet of Professor Kirkland.

All throughout the entire Howler, Harry couldn't help but noticed how tense the professor's composure was. Tense yes, but not surprised. It was as if he was used to receiving such letters from his deranged relatives slash loony friends slash ex-boyfriends (if the content in the Howler was anything to judge by).

The Great Hall was so silent, a needle dropping on the floor could've been heard. All eyes in the hall were on Professor Kirkland, waiting for his reaction (or explosive self-destruct). Professor Dumbledore slowly took his fingers out of his ears, his brilliant blue eyes focused on the young professor.

Professor Kirkland drew a deep breathe and without any warning, swept out of the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing as he walked out, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Harry guessed that he was attempting to keep his anger under control. It was something that Harry was still trying to master, especially during these days, what with the Ministry taking potshots at him almost every day...

After Professor Kirkland had made his not-so-graceful exit from the Great Hall, Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, a clear sign for the students to go back to their breakfast. The usual chattering began again, but this time, a few whispers could be heard discussing the young professor's Howler. Over at the Slytherin table, Harry could see Draco Malfoy among his friends holding court. Something said by Malfoy made his friends explode in laughter, and Harry couldn't help but think that Malfoy had just made another one of his uncouth jokes, this time featuring Professor Kirkland as its core.

"Harry?" Hermione interrupted Harry's glaring at Malfoy. "Are you okay there? You didn't pay attention to what I just said, did you?"

Harry looked at Hermione, whose face was torn between annoyance and concern. "Sorry, I didn't hear you," Harry apologised, earning himself another one of Hermione's death glares. "Can you repeat?"

"I  _said_ , _"_  Hermione sighed. "That French part of the Howler, there was something odd about it."

"And why is that so?" Harry wasn't in the mood for any guessing games.

"That French guy in the Howler kept calling Professor Kirkland 'Angleterre'," Hermione said, leaning forwards as if she was sharing a secret.

"We don't speak French, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you just tell us what that girly French man in the Howler said and get it over with? I know you're just dying to tell us."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, Ron, Angleterre is French for 'England'."

"...oh."

* * *

He didn't care whether there were people staring at him, nor did he care about his clean image going down the drain. He didn't even bother to make eye contact with the latecomers who were walking into the Great Hall for breakfast.

All he wanted to do now was to kill Scotland. Or preferably punch him in the nuts, shoot him in the head multiple times with a sub-machine gun, then strap him naked to the top of a car and drive him stark naked all around London.

England soon reached his private quarters. He went inside and locked the door, making sure that no-one could hear or see him. When he was done pulling the wooden lock in place, he stomped over to the fireplace, took a handful of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and threw it with a vengeance onto the fireplace, as though the Floo powder had just done him a great disservice.

The fire blazed emerald green, and with a deep breathe, England plunged his head into the fire. Choking down soot and ashes, he yelled. "Scotland's house!" into the fire. The brick wall of the fireplace before him seemed to twist and spin, causing England to shudder momentarily a bout of dizziness before the scene before him finally solidified.

As far as England could see, the scene before him was rather plain. A chair and a sofa were set before him, and a coffee table was set to his right. And in one of the sofa laid a young man with ginger coloured hair. His spectacles were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, a book in one of his hands. He was clearly fast asleep, judging by his closed eyes and slightly agape mouth. He had sprawled himself all over the sofa, one leg dangling over the floor and the other draped on the arm of the sofa.

England rolled his eyes at the scene before him before yelling at the top of his lungs (and hoping that no one outside could him) "IRELAND!"

Ireland jerked upwards, his book falling from his hand and onto the floor. England waited impatiently as his brother yawned and shifted his glasses back to a more suitable position before looking blearily at the fireplace. "Hey there, England." he muttered. "Looking for someone?"

"You bet I am." England growled. "Get me Scotland."

Ireland blinked. "Eh? Scotland?"

"Yes, you bloody fool. Scotland," England snarled, his somewhat frayed temper showing. "Get him here now. I know he's there."

"Alright," Ireland said with a shake of his head. " OY SCOTLAND! GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OVER HERE RIGHT NOW BEFORE I SET YOUR SOFA ON FIRE!"

England could distinctly hear Scotland yell "SET MY SOFA ON FIRE AND RISK GETTING YOUR HOUSE BURNT DOWN YOU BLOODY EEJIT!" before he came into view in front of the fireplace, a scowl on his face as he aimed a kick at Ireland, who deftly avoided the kick by leaping sideways.

Scotland glanced at the fireplace, saw England, and his scowl deepened. "Oh, it's you." he said in a tone one would use on something or someone particularly annoying. "What do you want now?"

"Excuse me?" England seethed. "What do I want? I just received a bloody Howler from you! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" England's voice rose at the last sentence. "WHAT'RE YOU PLAYING AT, SENDING ME THAT HOWLER WHEN YOU CLEARLY KNEW THAT I WAS GOING TO BE IN PUBLIC WHEN I RECEIVED IT-"

Ireland sighed and pulled out a pair of headphones from a nearby table drawer before snapping it onto his ears, humming softly to himself.

"-HAVE YOU NO BRAINS AT ALL YOU STUPID UNCIVILISED HIGHLANDER I COULD'VE BEEN EXPOSED THERE AND THEN-"

Scotland bristled. "What? Is the good old England scared now?" he growled. "Is a little Howler upsetting my cute younger brother now?"

England snapped. "That wasn't a bloody 'little' Howler, you wanker! If you have any insults to say to me-"

"You bet I do." Scotland hissed.

"Then say it to me in the face like a man, instead of resorting to cheap parlour tricks LIKE THAT HOWLER!" England yelled, his eyebrows mashed together in one angry straight line. "And what's the deal with letting America and that frog write in it too? Did you run out of insults to write?"

Scotland's murderous expression was replaced by a knowing smirk. "Ah, well, I was just letting those two vent their pent up sexual tension..."

"B-bollocks!" England screamed, feeling his face heating up. No, it had nothing to do with his head in a fire. "That's total bullshit, you git!"

"Look, little brother." Scotland leaned back, scooting a few inches away from England's furious face. "If you called me just to take out your frustration and anger..."

"WHY YOU-"

"Then send me another Howler." Scotland yawned, stretching his hands and almost hitting Ireland in the face. "It's still bloody early, and I want to get back to sleep. I'm not having some eejit like you disturb my beauty sleep over something so trivial as pranks."

"So this is war now, eh?" England breathed heavily through gritted teeth. "A prank war?"

Scotland raised an equally thick eyebrow at England. "If you want to see it that way, lad. Now, excuse me. I have some napping to catch up on."

As Scotland left behind a fuming England, Ireland just shrugged. "So, are you going to send him a Howler?" he asked his brother.

"No." England growled as he prepared to pull his head out of the fire. "I'm going to send him something much worse than that."

"Thanks for the warning." Ireland's voice faded as England pulled his head out of the fire and broke the connection.

England sat on the floor for a while and mused silently to himself. A prank war... He and Scotland hadn't had one in ages. But the problem was, whenever they had one… Scotland always won. However, this time, England was determined not to lose.

"Two can play the game, dear brother." England mumbled to himself as he got up from his sitting position on the floor and dusted himself casually.

Now, where was that section in the school's library for curses again...?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Extra- Tom Riddle**

He took it all in, the grandeur of the castle and the peaceful shimmer of the setting sun reflecting off the tranquil lake. In the distance, if he squinted, he could see the giant squid basking lazily in the lake. The Forbidden Forest nearby looked calm, its current situation for once not reflecting its name. Nothing could spoil the beautiful scenery in front of him.

Well, except for his brother Scotland, that is.

"Hurry up, ya eejit, we're not here on a sightseeing tour." Scotland brusquely pushed England in the back, nearly causing him to trip over a stone. "This isn't a bloody pleasure trip!"

England sighed and for once, allowed his brother to drag him up to their destination. On the way, they passed several groups of students loitering in the corridors. The students huddled together when they saw Scotland and him, fear and terror etched into their young and youthful faces.

England turned to face Scotland as they continued walking. "Is it that bad?" he asked softly, not taking chances of someone overhearing his comment.

"Aye, it's bad all right." Scotland replied, his face drawn back into a grimace. "They're even thinking about shutting down the school."

"Yes, I've heard about that too." England said. At that moment, a sudden coughing fit enveloped him and he bent down, his hand clasped over his mouth as he coughed. Scotland did nothing, for he knew nothing could be done to help his brother.

Even for someone as seasoned as his brother, it would take a long time to recover from the effects of the second world war.

England waited until his coughing fit had passed before he continued walking. Both he and Scotland were silent as they walked up the winding staircase to the headmaster's office. As they faced the door of the headmaster's office, Scotland raised his hand and knocked it politely. A weak "Enter!" could be heard. Scotland pushed the door open and entered the room, followed by a slightly hesitant England

The headmaster's office had not changed much since England had last visited. Maybe there were a few more portraits of deceased heads of the school on the wall now, but the books, the desk, the high ceiling, almost everything was the same. The only thing that really stood out as different in England's mind was the frail, old man sitting at the wide desk facing him, his hands trembling slightly as Scotland and England approached him.

"Ah, Mr Kirkland." The old man said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It is good of you to pay us a visit. This affair has gone far beyond my control."

Scotland nodded in acknowledgement. "It is good to see Hogwarts again after so many years, Armando. By the way, this," he gestured at a silent England. "Is my younger brother, Arthur Kirkland."

Armando Dippet squinted at England, his eyes narrowing. "Your brother?" he repeated, his interest perked up. "Forgive me for being so blunt, but are you the... same as your older brother?"

England's head rose an inch. "Yes, I am." he replied. "I am the personification of England."

"Ah..." Dippet sighed. It seemed as though he already knew about what exactly was England, because he didn't press England for any further details. "Then I am sure you know of the problem we are currently dealing with."

"Yes." England's face grew stern. "A girl was found dead in a toilet yesterday, right?"

Dippet closed his eyes as though he was in great pain. "Yes." he said, his voice now trembling slightly. "The Ministry has been called in to investigate but the truth is, they have little or no interest in the issue. Despite the fact that this involves the future generation of wizards and witches, they have displayed a surprising lack of interest in pursuing the case. The Muggle world war has taken its toll on us as well, what with the number of wizards and witches killed during the war. Rumours are already flying around the school. I do not know how long this can go on without the school being closed down."

"Have you no suspects?" Scotland cut in. "Or any ideas on how the girl died?"

"I am afraid not, Mr Kirkland." Dippet said, his eyes downcast and ashamed. "It wasn't the Killing Curse, that's for sure... and she wasn't poisoned. There were no signs of a struggle either, nor were there any bloodstains."

Scotland glanced at England, who merely shrugged in response. A dead end.

Scotland bowed to Dippet, and so did England. "If you do not have any more information, we'll be taking our leave now Armando." Scotland said. "We'll come back if we manage to convince the Ministry to continue their investigation into this murder case."

Dippet looked slightly crestfallen. "Very well then" he answered. "I do hope that-" The sound of someone knocking on the door interrupted his sentence. Dippet's eyebrows rose, but still said "Come on in." politely to whoever was knocking.

A student walked in. He was handsome, and slightly taller than England. His black hair was neatly cut and his pale skin stood out among his black school robes. England noted the silver Prefect badge pinned above his house crest. A Slytherin.

The student glanced at England and Scotland briefly, his eyes full of curiosity. As England's own emerald green eyes gazed into the boy's dark eyes, he couldn't help but feel a slight shudder go through him. The student managed to hold England's stare for a few seconds before dropping it to focus on his headmaster instead.

"You called for me, headmaster?" the student said, his voice clear and firm.

"Why yes, I did." Dippet agreed. He nodded at Scotland and England. "This is Scott Kirkland and his younger brother, er..."

"Arthur Kirkland." England filled in for Dippet, his eyes never leaving the boy's face.

"Yes, Arthur Kirkland. Sorry, couldn't quite remember that." Dippet sighed. "Mr Kirkland and Kirkland, this is one of the top students in the school, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Tom Riddle nodded politely at Scotland and England. His eyes, which had previously been full of curiosity, was now full of distrust as he glared at them discriminatingly. It was pretty obvious what he was thinking of them as a small sneer made its way onto his face. "A pleasure to meet you, sirs." Riddle said softly. Somehow, something about the way Riddle uttered the sentence made the hairs at the back of England's neck stood up. There was a darker undertone to his polite voice, and England decided that he didn't liked it very much.

"Pleasure too, young one." Scotland grunted, his face blank. England instantly knew that Scotland was getting fidgety, judging by the way his hands were twitching towards his pockets. "Pity, but we were just leaving." He glance at England, a look that clearly meant "Leave now."

"Good day to you, Dippet, Riddle." England said as Scotland stomped out of the room without saying so much as a goodbye. With a sigh, England followed him, nodding apologetically at Dippet and Riddle. As England closed the door behind him, he could hear the voices of Dippet and Riddle discussing something.

"-live in a Muggle orphanage, Riddle?"

"Yes, I was born and raised there."

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood. My mother was a witch, and my father was a Muggle."

"Ah, I see..."

England descended the spiral staircase and found a scowling Scotland waiting for him at the bottom. "About time, Arthur." he grumbled. "No one can be stupid enough to get lost on a staircase."

"Shut up, wanker." England retorted. "Care to explain why you stormed out of the room without so much as a nod?"

Scotland glanced away from England and shifted his legs uncomfortably. Finally, he spoke. "I just didn't feel comfortable being in the same room with that Riddle kid."

England was surprised. "You felt that way too?" he asked.

"Yes, I did." Scotland was annoyed now, his face turning red. "It's probably nothing though. Just a bad feeling. That doesn't mean the kid is going to turn out to be the culprit. Or a psychopath. For goodness sake, he's even a bloody Prefect for crying out loud!"

England snorted as he followed his older brother out of the giant wooden door which served as the entrance into the Great Hall. "Overly dramatic as usual," England remarked drily. Scotland just ignored him.

But somehow, England just couldn't shake off the feeling that that wasn't going to be the last time he was going to see of the polite but strangely sinister prefect called Tom Riddle...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8- Professor Kirkland's Photograph**

The library in the school was always busy during lunch hours.

As Harry leafed through another thick book, he could hear his stomach growling away. Much as he wanted to eat, Harry's workload had become too heavy for him to ignore it any more.

Ron was sitting next to Harry, biting his lips as he stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of him. His red hair was tousled from the countless times he had run his hand through it in frustration.

With a groan, Harry slammed the thick book shut, ignoring its wail of pain. "This book is useless too," he said with a sigh as he pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll go look again for another one which actually has _proper_  information on moonstones."

"Mm," Ron mumbled desolately as he tapped his quill against the table repeatedly, his eyes glazed over.

As Harry walked back to the bookshelves to return the thick book, he couldn't help but wonder about his upcoming detention with Umbridge. He and Hermione had debated over what kind of punishment Umbridge was most probably going to give him. For now, cleaning out the Owlery with Filch seemed to be the most likely punishment.

Harry slotted the book back into its niche and took out the book next to it. After flipping quickly through it, he put the book back and with a frustrated sigh, tried the book next to it. Oh, what would he give to have Hermione at times like this...

"Jelly-legs curse, eyebrow thickening curse... hm, I don't think he will need that... leg-locker curse...ah, teeth-lengthening curse... interesting..."  
A strange, almost melodious murmur drifted up to Harry from the next aisle. Curious, Harry grabbed a couple of books and peeked into the next aisle.

Professor Kirkland was flipping through an old battered book. He was wearing spectacles, his brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted at the faded text. The professor was wearing his usual Muggle shirt and a drab green tie, a Muggle fountain pen in his hand as he jotted down various notes from the book he was reading onto a piece or parchment.

Almost as if he'd sensed Harry, Professor Kirkland looked up from his book. For a moment, Harry could see something shift in the professor's emerald green eyes as he spotted Harry. But before Harry could fully comprehend it, the usual gentle and wise gleam in the professor's eyes had reappeared, replacing it.

"Hello, Potter," said Professor Kirkland, a sigh lingering in the air as he removed his spectacles and slipped them into his breast pocket. "Did you have lunch already?"

"No, sir. I skipped lunch," replied Harry, his curiosity perked up. The professor was a Muggle, but why was he looking up spells? A normal Muggle wasn't supposed to be capable of casting spells. But then again, a normal Muggle wasn't supposed to see magical creatures, and Professor Kirkland could see magical creatures. So he definitely wasn't classified under 'normal' for a Muggle.

"I'm terribly sorry to take up your time when I know that you're busy with work Potter, but do you happen to know where most of the advanced books on curses are?" Professor Kirkland's voice broke through Harry's thoughts, making them dissipate almost as immediately as they had formed.

Harry pointed towards the back of the library. "Those kind of books would most likely be in the Forbidden Section, sir," he said.

"Ah." The professor frowned. "The Forbidden Section. I seem to have forgotten all about it. If I recall correctly, it used to be around here..." He waved vaguely at the bookshelves towering over them majestically. "I guess the layout has changed... Oh, well, I should have expected that. How foolish of me." He tucked the piece of parchment into the pocket of his trousers and retreated to the Forbidden Section, leaving Harry behind.

Harry stared at the back of Professor Kirkland as the professor walked down the aisle to the Forbidden Section. That particular section was usually off-limits to students without a permission slip from a teacher, but Harry guessed that professors were free to browse through it.

A slight movement on the floor caught Harry's interest even as the professor's footsteps faded. Harry bent down, picking up a piece of worn paper that had fallen out of the professor's pocket, most probably when he'd withdrawn his hand after pocketing his pen.

The piece of paper was a photograph. The top right corner of the photograph was missing a sizeable portion and the edges of that particular corner was charred black. The edges of the photograph were also frayed, and the paper of the photograph itself was yellowed with age.

The picture itself was of a man that Harry instantly recognised as Professor Kirkland was sitting on a chair which had been draped with folds of velvet cloth, his usually composed face glowing with happiness and pride. Sitting on his lap were two young boys. They were almost identical, and Harry deduced that they were twins. One was grinning merrily at the photographer, a strand of hair protruding up at a weird angle on his head. The other boy was cuddling a small white bear, his wide eyes barely visible over the furry head of his pet. He too had a strand of hair which stood up at a weird angle but unlike his twin, it was longer and curled at the end.

Harry found it odd that the picture wasn't moving, until he remembered that the professor wasn't a wizard. He was a Muggle. It made sense that he would keep a Muggle photograph.

Harry flipped the picture over. There was some faded writing scrawled at the back of the photograph. He squinted as he tried to read the cursive writing.

_'With America and Canada. June 1703, Boston. -England'_

Harry's eyes widened as he read the sentence. Stunned, he flipped the photograph over again. It was in colour, but now that Harry took a closer look at it, he could see that it was actually a photograph of a painting. It was not an actual photograph. But why had Professor Kirkland taken a picture of an old painting?

"Professor..." called out Harry to Professor Kirkland, fully intending to return the semi-burnt photograph to him when Madam Pince suddenly hissed from behind him, startling him badly.

"This is a library, do not raise your voice! Where did you tear that picture from, boy?" Madam Pince screeched, her eyes glowing with unseen rage as she saw the battered photograph Harry was holding. She probably thought that Harry had torn it out of one of her old books.

"I didn't tear it from anywhere!" Harry protested, glancing desperately at Professor Kirkland. He had took down a few books from the shelves of the Forbidden Section and was now pocketing his pen, looking extremely satisfied.  _Please don't leave the library now_ , thought Harry feverishly.  _Please..._

As if in defiance of Harry's silent plea, Professor Kirkland walked out of the library.

Harry groaned. He guessed he had no choice but to return the picture later.

"Give me that!" Harry had totally forgotten about Madam Pince until she lunged for the photograph. Harry managed to dodge and ran back to his table, leaving a fuming Madam Pince far behind.

Ron glanced up at Harry as he slammed his hands down on their table, his breathing heavy and ragged. "What happened, mate?" said Ron, his eyebrows rising. His eyes strayed to the photograph Harry was clutching tightly in his hand. "Wha-?"

"Later, Ron." said Harry as he shoved all his books and writing materials into his bag and slung it over his shoulders. "We're leaving now."

Ron didn't questioned Harry any further. He merely followed Harry out of the library, faithfully obeying him. They ran into Hermione on the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione's face was flushed. "Where were the both of you?" she demanded. "I was looking all over the Great Hall for the two of you!"

"We were in the library doing Snape's essay until Madam Pince got angry and chased me out." explained Harry.

Hermione sighed. "What did you do this time, Harry?"

"Nothing!" replied Harry defensively. It was then Hermione's eyes fell on the photograph Harry was still holding onto in his right hand.

"Where did you get that from?" Hermione asked, her eyes curious.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I was going to ask you that too Harry."

Harry passed the photograph to Hermione. Her eyes grew wider and wider as she flipped the photograph over and read the writing on the back. Ron peeked over her shoulder, his eyes straining to read the writing. Finally, he gave up and asked. "What does it says on the back, Hermione?"

"With America and Canada. June 1703, Boston. England." Hermione read out loud. "Is this Professor Kirkland's great-great-great-grandfather in the picture, Harry?"

"I'm not sure," answered Harry, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his robe. "The professor dropped it in the library just now before I got chased out. I was thinking of returning it to him later during our lesson with him."

"That chap in the photograph looks exactly like the professor." Ron said, disbelief colouring his voice. "How can the professor look so much like such a distant relative?"

"I was thinking that too," said Hermione, a frown on her face. "I wonder why part of the photograph looks like it got burnt in a fire..."

"Maybe the professor accidentally dropped it into a fire?" suggested Harry.

Hermione didn't look convinced. Harry could almost hear the gears in her brain spinning and turning, calculating the various possibilities. "I don't understand. What does June 1703 Boston means? And England? Who's that? The man in the picture? Pictures didn't exist three hundred years ago... is this a photo of a portrait? And why is somebody resembling Professor Kirkland in this picture...? It can't be him in the photo... no one can possibly be that old... even Professor Dumbledore isn't that old..." Hermione was mumbling to herself now, causing Harry to roll his eyes.

"It says 'With America and Canada'." said Ron. "Are those the two kids in the picture? Then who is England?"

"I thought England was Professor Kirkland's middle name?" said Harry.

"Or  _Angleterre_." Hermione muttered. She continued staring at the photograph, her face scrunched up in concentration. "No... the name... it can't be..." All of a sudden, she thrust the picture back into Harry's hands, catching him by surprise. "Wait here! I'm going to go to the library for a while!"

Ron glanced at Harry, a question mark on his face as Hermione dashed off, her bushy brown hair flying behind her. "We have History of Magic now... Where is she going?" Ron's question was left unanswered.

Hermione didn't turn up for History of Magic, which was quite a feat, considering that she was the only one in the class who listened to Professor Binns' droning and actually  _liked_  it. The rest of the Gryffindors stared as Harry and Ron entered the classroom without Hermione, Harry merely shrugged his shoulders apologetically whereas Ron made some wild gestures behind Harry.

The rest of the lesson dragged by. Harry spent most of his time worrying about Hermione. He had stashed Professor Kirkland's photograph in his bag, not daring to hold the fragile photograph for too long lest it crumbled to pieces in his hands.

Next to Harry, Ron scribbled a small note on the side of Harry's almost-empty parchment. Harry tilted his head sideways to read the note. It read:  _"Five sickles that Hermione will have Kirkland's entire life story for us by the time Binns finishes his lecture on the Wizengamot."_

Harry snorted, but he couldn't help but agree with Ron on that matter.

* * *

England felt satisfied. He was currently in his private quarters after lunch, relaxing his aching legs for a while. He had went through countless books in the Forbidden Section until he had finally managed to find a few decent curses which could be sent via owl post to his bloody brother. Not to mention that handy gender switching spell he had uncovered in a very old and dusty book... oh, the fun he was going to have when Scotland woke up a woman... would he finally fit into the dress England had got him two years ago?

England dug through his pocket for his trusty fountain pen, expecting to feel the photograph he had always kept in there. When he felt nothing except for the tip of his pen, his cheerful mood quickly evaporated like dew on a summer morning. Panicking, he emptied the entire contents of his pocket onto his desk. No photograph. It was gone.

Swearing silently at himself, England gritted his teeth in frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. How could he be so careless? It was the only copy he had left, bloody hell! Where could he have dropped it...?

* * *

" _England!" America bounced restlessly on England's knee, the top of his tiny head barely reaching England's jaw. "What is that man in front of us going to do?"_

_England smiled fondly and patted the lad's head. "He's going to paint a portrait of us," said England to the fidgeting boy. "So remember to give him your best smile America! You too, Canada." he added to the other young boy sitting on his other knee. Canada was clutching his pet polar bear and nodded in response to England's instruction. However, shyness overcame him again and he buried his face into the soft white fur of his pet._

_America turned to face the painter, flashing the man his brightest grin. Canada on the other hand continued to hide his face behind his pet, his violet eyes peeking out shyly over the head of the small polar bear._

_England's own smile broadened._

* * *

_The knock on his door awoke England from his stupor. He jerked upright in his seat as Canada entered, a solemn expression on his face._

_England and Canada stared at each other silently. It wasn't until a few minutes had passed before England could summon the courage to ask the question that had been burning in his mind for the past few hours. "What did he say?" England asked quietly, his voice cracking slightly at the last word and betraying his true feelings._

_Gravely, Canada shook his head. "He's not coming back, England." said he softly. "He intends to resist until the end. He's not going to give up without a fight."_

_Stricken, England exhaled shakily. He pressed his hand against his cold forehead, his breathing coming in short gasps. Canada waited until England had composed himself before voicing out his own thoughts. "Why don't you just let him go, England? If you truly love him, you'll let him go. He... he doesn't likes being controlled by anyone. I'm sure you're well aware of that."_

" _No." England's voice had turned steely cold. "America is my colony. I have provided him with so much, yet he still demands more. I have not and never will give in to that brat's unreasonable demands. If he intends to wage war upon me, so be it."_

_Canada's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure war is what you really want, England?" he asked, weariness evident in his tone of voice. "I will be forced to take your side against my own twin if war breaks out. I...no, we will break together if you break America."_

_Words failed England at that point. He tried to open his mouth but no words came out. Mutely, England fell back against his chair, his folded hands trembling slightly._

_Canada was wise. He recognised the signs and came to the conclusion that England was in no condition to speak coherently any more. He left the room, silently closing the door behind him._

_England didn't even notice Canada's departure. His eyes had fallen upon the painting that hung on the wall opposite of him._

_He saw a younger version of himself, a good-natured smile on his face back then. Canada was there too, hugging his pet polar bear, his violet eyes wide and shy._

_And then there was America, grinning at the painter._

_How long had it been since England had last seen America smile like that? And how long had it been since_  he  _himself had smiled a true smile, not a cynical smile aimed at reducing the morales of his enemies?_

_The little boy with the sparkling sky blue eyes in the portrait smiled back at the present England, his face innocent and clean from the taint of war and politics. Much as England longed for him, America will never be the same cheerful lad with the ridiculously carefree attitude. The same boy who'd huddle close to England whenever thunder rumbled in the distance, his hands over his ears. The young adolescent who'd always greet England cheerfully with a cheeky bow and a hug whenever England came over to his house for a visit._

_The laughter that used to fill England's empty house whenever America and Canada came over to visit echoed eerily in England's head. Now that America had left, Canada was no longer the same. He too had shut himself off, letting no-one know what he was thinking. He had closed himself off from almost everyone. And thus England's house had became empty and silent again. Devoid of any form of cheer or joy._

_Silently, England wept._

* * *

"That will conclude our lesson for the day," said Professor Kirkland as he forced the last Bowtruckle into the open crate placed on the grass. The Bowtruckle clearly wasn't giving up without a fight though. It screeched loudly and tried to bite off Professor Kirkland's fingers. The professor skilfully avoided the Bowtruckle's razor sharp teeth and dropped it into the crate, slamming said crate shut with its wooden cover.

Harry rolled up his parchment which contained a rough sketch of a Bowtruckle's body parts and stuffed it into his bag, wincing slightly as the cuts on his fingers throbbed painfully. Over at the Slytherins' side, Malfoy was complaining loudly to his friends as he nursed his own bitten fingers. Everyone in the class had received a few scratches and cuts from the Bowtruckles, but Professor Kirkland had merely waved their complaints off, saying that injuries were to be expected when one was taking Care of Magical Creatures.

Hermione still hadn't turned up for any lessons.

Harry was starting to grow anxious now. In low voices, he and Ron had discussed what could have probably happened to Hermione, but they didn't have any good ideas. When Professor Kirkland had enquired at the beginning of the lesson about Hermione's absence, Harry had made up a lame excuse, something about Hermione feeling sick and therefore being unable to attend. Something told Harry that the professor was sceptical of his excuse, but had thankfully chosen not to ask any more questions and instead proceeded to carrying on with his lesson.

As the class slowly dispersed to their various common rooms to nurse their wounds, Harry nervously approached Professor Kirkland, Ron trailing behind him uncertainly. The professor was carrying the box of Bowtruckles with ease to Hagrid's unoccupied wooden cabin as they approached him. He dumped the shaking crate against the wall of Hagrid's house and turned to face his students. "Did you want to ask me something about the lesson, Potter and Weasley?"

"Uh, not really, sir," said Harry. The professor was dressed in a simple white Muggle shirt with long sleeves and black trousers. He had folded the sleeves up and a few patches of blood and dirt were smeared on the front of his shirt. Somehow, even though the professor was all dirty and bloodied from the lesson, he strangely reminded Harry of the times Professor Dumbledore would sit down with Harry, answering all of Harry's questions.

Professor Kirkland was waiting for Harry to speak, his hands on his hips, head tilted slightly to the right.

Wordlessly, Harry withdrew the semi-burnt photograph from his school bag and held it out to the professor. The professor's emerald green eyes widened, and a brief flash of shock followed by relief appeared in them. He took the photograph from Harry's hands and looked at it once fondly before tucking it into his pocket.

"Boys, you have no idea how grateful I am that you found this photograph," began Professor Kirkland, his usually strict composure loosening up, a soft smile on his face as if he was recalling days long past. "It means a lot to me personally and I can't thank you enough for finding and returning it."

"I found it in the library, sir." answered Harry. "I tried to return it to you then, but you left the library soon after and I was held up."

"Sir, why did you write June 1702 at the-" Ron's question was quickly cut off when Harry stomped on his feet discreetly, causing Ron to wince in pain as Harry's silent message got through to him.

Professor Kirkland glance at Ron. "What was that, Weasley?"

"I - I didn't say anything, sir." Ron changed his response midway as Harry shot him a glare.

"If you say so." A small smirk had appeared on the professor's face as he observed his students with interest. He waved them off soon after that, a sign that they were dismissed. "Now, off you go for your next lesson. I don't exactly want Minerva breathing fire down my neck for causing her students to be late. I don't have any intentions on getting sacked so fast."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9- Enter the American**

_I must not tell lies._

The words carved themselves into Harry's hand. However, not a single sound of pain escaped from Harry's lips during the entire process. He sat at the desk that had been provided for him, his teeth gritted in concentration, determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing that he was in pain.

At her own desk, Umbridge silently laid down the quill that she was using to write a letter onto a silver tray delicately, the silver rings on her stubby fingers flashing ominously. "Come here." she said softly to Harry, her voice humming with pleasure at Harry's unspoken discomfort.

Harry pushed back his chair and got up, making his way to Umbridge. Hatred at the woman was bubbling away in his head, causing a headache to build up in himself. Said hated woman took his bleeding hand, looked at it briefly and let out a 'Hmm.'

"It looks as though you have a long way to go, Mr. Potter." said Umbridge sweetly, a sickly smile on her wide face. "I will be seeing you again tomorrow then. Good night, Mr. Potter."

"Good night, professor." said Harry curtly and walked out of Umbridge's office, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He strode back to Gryffindor tower as he cradle his injured hand with his handkerchief, the white cloth slowly getting stained red.

The Fat Lady wasn't very pleased when Harry woke her up from her slumber, but nonetheless she let him in, albeit a little grumpily when he uttered the password. In the common room, he could see Ron's silhouette against the soft golden glow from the flames dancing in the fireplace. Sitting next to him on the floor with her legs crossed, various books and pieces of paper scattered around her was Hermione, her face pulled down into a frown as she read the parchment in her hand, Crookshanks purring contentedly in her lap.

Ron noticed Harry almost immediately. "You're back!" said he excitedly. "What did that old hag make you do for detention?"

Harry quickly shoved his bleeding right hand into the pocket of his robe. "Just some regular lines." he said a little too quickly, settling himself down next to a still deep-in-thought Hermione. "Speaking of which, where were you this whole afternoon, Hermione? All the professors were looking for you."

Hermione finally seemed to notice Harry sitting next to her. She rolled up the parchment she was reading and fully faced Harry. "I was in the library looking up old wizarding and Muggle history books." There was a slightly smug edge to her tone of voice, indicating that she knew something interesting Harry didn't. "I found quite a lot of... unusual things in the books."

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione's sentence. "Hermione, I've been asking you about it for the past one hour and you've told me nothing at all."

"That's because I was waiting for Harry to come out of detention, Ron." shot back Hermione.

"All right, what did you find Hermione?" Harry quickly interjected stop Hermione and Ron from glaring at each other. His attempt worked. Hermione glanced away from Ron and instantly went for a roll of parchment lying on the floor next to her. She unravelled it and cleared her throat. But before she could speak, Ron butted in again.

"Is this about Professor Kirkland?" he asked. Upon seeing the look on Hermione's face, he hastily added. "Do continue, Hermione."

Hermione ignored Ron and read out loud from her parchment. "I went through plenty of books in the history section, and I found a few articles and photographs from some of the older books that were... intriguing to say the least. Here," She paused and picked up a thick leather bound book from the pile of books towering next to her. "This book chronicles the lives of the royal Muggle family of Great Britain, right back to the very beginning. And if you look here..." Hermione quickly flipped to a page that she had bookmarked before silently pressing the book into Harry's hands, her index finger pointing at a picture on the page. "Look."

Harry took one glance at the picture and nearly choked. It was an unsmiling Professor Kirkland in the picture, wearing what looked like a military uniform and standing next to a smiling woman who was dressed in a beautiful gown. The caption underneath the picture read: "Her Majesty and her long-standing advisor, Arthur Kirkland. Taken at Buckingham Palace in the summer of 1954.".

Slowly, after digesting the information, Harry looked up at Hermione. His mouth had gone dry. "Nineteen fifty-four? B-but that's almost half a century ago...! How...?"

"Maybe that's his father?" Ron chipped in, not making eye contact with Hermione.

"And they have the same exact name and looks now, do they?" Hermione retorted. "Look here, there's another bookmarked page..." Hermione hastily turned the pages to the page she had bookmarked. "Read that passage. Yeah, that one under the title."

Harry read the passage out loud. It was pretty simple: ' "The advisers for Her Majesty, Queen Victoria are as listed below: Joseph Brown, Michael Carter, Arthur Kirkland..."' Harry's voice trailed off. "Why is Professor Kirkland's name in here again?" His heart was pounding faster and faster. What was going on?

While Harry had been reading out loud that passage, Hermione had picked up another book. The book in particular was thin, and was most likely handwritten too, judging by the faded title scrawled in black ink on the front cover. "This is the journal of a wizard who lived way back in the sixteenth century. He didn't record his name down in here, so I don't know much about him, except that he was a wizard who really loved the sea and spent a lot of time hanging around the sea-faring Muggles. In this journal of his, he recorded almost everything that had happened to him during the many years he spent with Muggles. And in a few entries, he recorded quite a bit about a certain captain of a pirate ship who terrorised many Muggles that eked out a living as sea-faring folks. According to this nameless wizard, the same pirate was strangely spotted again and again over the span of about fifty to sixty years. He also noted this..."

Here, Hermione flipped the journal open, found the page that she wanted and started reading from a passage that she had marked. "'The man came by again today. This time, he was more aggressive than usual. He and his crew burned the few Spanish ships that were trading in port with the townsfolk. I myself have encountered this particular Muggle only once when I have had the misfortune of boarding a passenger ship which caught his whimsical fancy. From the distance of my home I observed him today, noting the fact that he has aged very gracefully for someone who is supposed to be almost eighty years old, if my calculations from the time when I first met him on the high seas are anything to go by. He looked exactly the same as he did back then, long golden hair and eyes the colour of my native land, Ireland. It wasn't only until today did I get to learn of his name from a poor Spanish Muggle trader whose ship was burnt to cinders. His name is Arthur.'" Hermione stopped reading at that part, a small frown on her face. "This was the final entry of the unknown wizard before he stopped. Maybe he died? Anyway, this journal was sent to Hogwarts for safekeeping and by the looks of it, no one really looked thoroughly through it."

"So what does a fancy pirate story have to do with finding information about Professor Kirkland?" asked Ron as he leaned forward in his cushy seat. "Other than the fact that the seemingly ageless pirate in the journal and Professor Kirkland share the same first name and similar physical features, their personalities are polar opposites. One's a pirate in the sixteenth century, the other is a respectable professor. And face it, blonde hair and green eyes are not exactly the most uncommon physical features around here."

"Don't you get it, Ron?" said Hermione excitedly, slamming the flimsy journal shut. "Professor Kirkland's name cropped up all over the place in books which were all set in different time periods! What's to say this pirate in the unknown wizard's journal isn't him either?"

Ron fell silent, failing to come up with a valid argument to Hermione's.

Harry yawned. His eyelids were starting to drop. "Is this all you got after spending one whole day in the library?" he asked.

"I had to go through countless books in the history section before I even found anything plausible." admitted Hermione. "I was searching randomly too, not knowing if I'd strike the jackpot." She looked hopefully at Harry. "Unless you want to help out...?"

"Uh..." Harry tried to look elsewhere and not at Hermione's hopeful face. "I don't know... I have a lot of homework and Quidditch practice too..."

Hermione's face fell. "Oh...Okay, I understand." She snatched up a piece of parchment from the ground next to her, took up a quill sitting in its ink pot near Crookshanks and started crossing out the words written on it furiously.

"What's that?" asked Ron curiously, craning his neck to get a better view of the parchment.

"It's a list of what Professor Kirkland might be." said Hermione matter-of-factly. "So far, I've eliminated werewolf, faerie, ghost and half-human... how about ..."

Harry couldn't help but wonder why faerie was even on Hermione's list in the first place.

Ron yawned and stretched out his arms. "I'll leave you to your research then, Hermione." he said sleepily. "I'm really tired now and I need some extra energy tomorrow..."

"What for?" enquired Hermione, her eyes narrowing over the parchment, the quill in her right hand quivering slightly.

Ron hesitated, his eyes shifty. "Uh... prefect duties?" he lamely answered. Before Hermione and Harry could drill him for any further information, Ron had shot up the staircase leading to the boys dormitory like a rocket from its launcher.

Harry turned to stare at Hermione. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "He was dozing off in the sofa when I came back from the library about an hour ago. Maybe he's really tired."

Harry crouched down and picked up another book next to Hermione, flicking through its pages aimlessly. After a few minutes of quiet which was occasionally punctuated by the flames in the fireplace crackling, Harry spoke. "Do you really think that the pirate in that journal was Professor Kirkland?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face. Harry didn't notice it before, but her face was also drawn out and pale, as if she hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. "I don't know, Harry. I don't even know why I'm doing this in the first place. I mean..." she trailed off. "We have more important stuff to do but yet..." A yawn came, and she tried to suppress it.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I think you need to get to bed now, Hermione. Late nighters aren't doing you any good."

"Yeah, you're right." said Hermione sleepily. She stood up from the floor and started gathering the various books and parchments scattered all around her. "Night, Harry. See you tomorrow."

"Night, Hermione." automatically replied Harry.

After Hermione had made her way up to her own bed, Harry flopped onto the sofa which had been previously occupied by Ron. He was so tired, and his throbbing hand wasn't helping either.

Harry's eyes closed and pretty soon, his snores were echoing within the empty Gryffindor common room.

* * *

An ocean away from Britain, America was bored.

He was sitting at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. Behind him, sitting cross legged on his bed was Tony, who was tapping away at his PSP playing some game called Gakuen Hetalia that Japan had made. (Come to think of it, how did Tony know Japanese?)

In the past few days, America's mood had taken a nosedive. It'd been quite a while since he'd last heard from England, and America was getting desperate. What if England had gotten his head bitten off by some stray magical creature? (America now had no choice but to accept that those 'magical' creatures of England's was real, seeing as he had taken up a job teaching about them, and he couldn't exactly be teaching thin air to students right? Right?). Or... was England purposely not replying to him? America had sent plenty of letters to the stuffy Brit, but no reply had come back to him. Nothing at all. It was as if this magical school of England's was a black hole, from which letters sent were never replied.

America nibbled on the tip of his pen, his eyes fixed on one particular dark patch on the wooden desk. He wanted so badly to know if England was fine! Sure, England always lectured him about being reckless but he always was one to talk, and America knew it. Therefore, this left America only one option, since England wasn't replying his letters: Go directly to see England!

America turned to face Tony, who was still fixated on the screen of the PSP. "Do you think that I should go to Scotland's place and see if England is doing okay, Tony? Scotland did say that this Hogwarts school was at his place..." He bit his lower lip, pondering the option. "I know he'll get pissed at me, but still..."

Tony didn't even bother looking up at its owner. "If whatever you're gonna do is gonna make that f***king limey pissed, do it." it said monotonously before resuming its gaming.''

America instantly brightened up. "Yeah, that's a cool idea! OK, Tony, I'm going to be away for a while! You look after the house, 'kay?" As America spoke, he leapt out of his chair, pulled out a small duffel bag from under his bed ("Geroff, Tony! I need to get my bag!". "F*** you.") and started to throw in various piece of clothing, creating a mountain of mess in his room as he pulled out all kinds of clothes from his wardrobe.

After packing the bag, America grabbed the cellphone lying on his desk and dialled in a specific number. After waiting a few beeps, he heard the click. "Yo, Scotland! Yeah, it's me, America... no, no, no, NO DON'T HANG UP! I totally need your help! Like, right now! I'm gonna catch a flight to... what was your capital again? Edinburgh? Yeah, that place! Listen, I need your help getting me into that magical school of yours where England is teaching... You can help me? ….uh-huh, I'll be right over, dude!" America broke off the connection and stuffed his cellphone into the pocket of his jeans.

America wrenched opened his bedroom door and ran down the staircase, taking three steps at the time. "I'm counting on you to take care of the house Tony!" he called out as he unlocked the front door. A sudden blast of sunlight came in, making America squint slightly. "Don't blow up anything while I'm gone, okay?" With that, he ran out of the house and slammed the front door, causing some plaster to fall down from the ceiling.

Tony merely stared wordlessly as its owner went out of the house like a whirlwind. After the front door had shut, Tony switched off the PSP and went down to the kitchen. It was hungry. Some fried eggs and bacon sounded good.

Now all it needed to do was to break out that new blowtorch to cook the breakfast.

* * *

England woke up early in the morning to complete his letter to Scotland. It was still dark when he started writing and by the time he'd completed the letter and sealed it up, the sun was starting to rise over the lake, its first rays of light shining in softly through the window in his room, illuminating the entire room with a golden light.

Letter tucked in his pocket, England slipped out of his room. He glanced right and left, checking to see if the coast was clear. Satisfied, he started walking towards the Owlery, his footsteps echoing around the still hollow corridors as the occupants of Hogwarts started to wake up slowly, one by one.

England was almost halfway to the Owlery when he encountered the last thing he would ever want to have an encounter with early in the day: Peeves the poltergeist.

Naturally, England had known right from the beginning that Peeves was just another word to say 'trouble'. He just didn't know how much trouble he was until a water balloon fell down in front of him. The balloon promptly burst and wetted the marble floor, causing England to jump back or risk skidding on the wet floor.

Peeves cackled with mirth as he looked at the furious England. "Top of the morning to you, professor~" said Peeves in an irritating sing-song voice. "Going somewhere?"

England brushed a few droplets of water off his his shirt. "Go. Away." he snapped in his infamous pirate voice that had in the past, made many men tougher than him tremble in fear. "I can perform a perfect exorcism on you in ten seconds and you'll never be able to go around the school pulling pranks ever again."

Peeves stared, "You're a Muggle, professor~" he said, albeit a little hesitantly. "You can't do magic, can you?"

One of England's bushy eyebrows rose in a way that clearly meant "Try me.".

Peeves, irritating as he may be sometimes, got the message. He stared at the professor before him, his eyes narrowed. Peeves was only scared of the Bloody Baron and no-one else, but this human was pretty convincing too. He then wisely decided that now was a good time to start disturbing Filch instead.

As Peeves zoomed off, he decided to tip the bust of Paracelsus sitting on the top of the cupboard onto the professor's head. That'll teach him to threaten to exorcise him!

England gave a yell of surprise as he saw the marble bust tip over the top of the cupboard, He skipped out of the way just in time as the bust smashed onto the spot where he had stood only a few seconds ago.

"PEEVES!" roared England angrily, but the poltergeist had already flown away, his mad cackles taunting England even more. England stood motionless for a moment, mentally shaking his fist at Peeves before proceeding to the Owlery.

As England opened the heavy wooden door to the Owlery, the thousands of owls roosting on the wooden rafters hooted, their beady eyes fixated on England. Many of the owls flapped their wings excitedly, countless feathers scattering all over the floor. England clicked his tongue softly to calm the owls. Many animals were much more sensitive than humans, and a lot of them reacted excitedly around him. They could somehow sense he wasn't human and were naturally drawn to him. Maybe he reminded them of their own homeland, or the place they were born as younglings.

England managed to coax down a white snowy owl from the wooden rafters using a series of clicks and hoots. She was a real beauty, her snow white feathers standing out among the rest of the owls in the Owlery.

"I wonder who's your owner, girl." said England soothingly as he tied Scotland's letter to the owl's outstretched leg. "He must be one lucky chap to have such a beautiful pet."

The owl nipped England gently on the hand before spreading out her wings. After England had finished tying the letter, he spoke in a low voice. "I know there's no recipient written on the outside of the letter, but it's for Scotland. You know who he is, don't you? Now, off you go girl!" With that, England threw the owl into the air and she took off, exiting the Owlery through a small window in the roof, her wings beating steadily.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were already eating their breakfast when Harry arrived.

"Good morning, Harry." said Hermione and nodded at Harry as she turned the pages of The Daily Prophet.

Harry seated himself and started piling toast onto his plate. "Anything in The Daily Prophet today?" he managed to say through a mouthful of toast.

"No." said Hermione as she folded up the newspaper. "Just the regular nonsense about Dumbledore, and some article about how Fudge keeps going on about the Secrecy Act."

Ron snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

* * *

At the Slytherins' table, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had dropped a letter into his bowl of cereal. Eagerly, Malfoy tore the envelope open, his eyes scanning the contents of the letter.

The letter was from his father. It was quite lengthy, but still managed to be very informative without being long-winded, which was something Malfoy really hated.

_Draco,_

_It has also come to my attention that this new Muggle professor recruited by Albus Dumbledore requires deeper attention. I have alerted Cornelius Fudge regarding this matter and he is at this very moment attempting to dig out verifiable information on this Arthur England Kirkland. Fudge's Senior Undersecretary, a very delightful woman by the name of Dolores Umbridge (who is currently stationed at Hogwarts as the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts) has also pledged to continue to observe him for a while. You'll be pleased to know that Fudge and I are planning to visit Hogwarts today to speak to the staff regarding some changes to the way the school will be run in the future. This will also give us the opportunity to see this so-called Muggle professor, and to verify if he is up to scratch in his lessons._

_Enclosed below is some information on Arthur E. Kirkland that Fudge has managed to find after going through some old official top secret documents regarding the Ministry of Magic's relationship with the filthy Muggle government. Do note that some parts of the documents are indecipherable as it is very old, and that some parts have also been purposefully erased by an unknown individual for reasons equally unknown to us._

Official/Human name: Arthur Kirkland

Real name: The United (erased) at official world meetings, known as En-(erased)

Relationship status: Three brothers, one sister. Brothers include Scott Kirkland, also known as Scot-(erased), Ire-(erased) and Eric Kirkland, mentor to several (erased) -Williams, known as Canada, Alfred F. J- (erased), in a love-hate relationship with Fr-(erased)

_That was all the information we could scrounge from the old documents without spoiling them altogether._

_Additionally, Fudge and his office are trying to figure out how old this Arthur Kirkland really is. From Dolores' reports, he is a typical twenty-three year old human male. However, the documents I have just enclosed is dated and written back in the 1960s._

_I will get back to you with more tangible information concerning Professor Arthur E. Kirkland._

_Lucius Malfoy._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10-The Calm Before The Storm**

America wasn't expecting much when he touched down at the airport. Edinburgh was a beautiful city, especially when seen from the sky, but inwardly America was wondering why Scotland acted like a total grouch most of the time when his own country and people looked perfectly content.

After exiting the plane with his duffel bag in one hand and a bottle of Coke he had cajoled a bemused air stewardess to give him earlier in the other, America glanced around the arrival hall. He was wearing a white shirt and a jumper, his usual bomber jacket draped on his shoulders. The arrival hall was packed with tourists and Scottish returning from their various holidays.

The endless sound of chatter filled America's ears as he sitted himself on a nearby bench. He sighed deeply and took a sip from the bottle of Coke as he fruitlessly looked around for Scotland.

_He sure is late_ , America thought as he took another sip. Maybe Scotland had pranked him by abandoning him in a foreign city? Was this his idea of a joke? Seconds later, America dismissed that thought just as fast as it had came to him. If there was one thing America was absolutely certain about England's loud and obnoxious older brother, it was that he always kept his promises, whether they be good or bad.

"Oy, out of the way people! I've got myself a Yank to pick up! 'Scuse me, fella!" A familiar rough voice reached America's sharp ears and he straightened his back, craning his neck to get a better view of the crowd milling around the arrival hall. Strange, America mused. That voice sounded like eeriely like Scotland's voice and that coarse manner of speaking was obviously his except for one tiny difference... since when had Scotland sounded like a girl?

A young woman pushed herself through the crowd, sidestepping a kissing couple. She had flaming red hair which reached her waist and the white dress she was wearing swished angrily around her heels as she strode towards America on high heels. A handbag swung precariously on her right hand. The woman was clearly furious as she pushed aside a drunk tourist who had wandered a little too close to her, her mouth sprouting some very colourful language that would've made even Romano's ears wilt.

The fiesty woman walked straight up to America, ignoring the way his eyes bulged out when he saw her. She scrunitised him critically for a moment before speaking,"What're yer waiting for Yank? The sky to fall down on ye? Come on! I promised Wales that I was only going to use his car for two hours so hurry up!"

"Er...uh, who're you?" stuttered poor America. Who was this woman? Scotland's evil twin sister?

The woman swore under her breath, mumbling a string of Scottish swear words that made America thankful that he didn't understand them at all. "I'm Scott Kirkland, ye stupid Yank! Arthur Kirkland's brother! Can't you recognise me?"

"But you're a woman!" protested America. "How was I supposed to recognise you?" He backed away from Scotland warily. "Wait, how do I know that you're not lying?"

Scotland snorted. "Well, if you insist that I prove myself, I know for a fact that Arthur sleeps with a plush toy unicorn and rabbit, keeps his spellbooks on top of the cupboard where he thinks no-one can reach them, regularly blows up the kitchen thrice a week, cries his eyes out whenever the first week of July rolls around, gets drunk with Francis every second Wednesday of the month, keeps a picture of you under his pillow and kisses it every night before he sleeps and..."

"Okay, okay! I get it!" said America hastily, cutting off Scotland. "So what happened to you?"

Scotland looked down at himself (herself?) and snorted. "You can go ask your ex-mentor at Hogwarts. He sent a gender switching curse to me via owl and now I'm stuck as a woman for the time being." One of Scotland's eyebrows was arched, daring America to laugh at him and suffer the harsh consequences.

And sure enough, America started laughing. He doubled over with laughter, eyes crinkling with mirth. "Oh...my god...Arthur did that to you? He...did that?" America continued laughing, ignoring the sinister black Russia-like aura emitting from Scotland. Without warning, Scotland raised his handbag over America's head as the younger man continued howling in laughter, attracting the attentiong of a few curious tourists walking past.

SMACK!

"Ow, Scotland!"

* * *

With a grunt, England shut the last Niffler into the wooden crate. Bending back slightly, he heard the unmistakable rustle of robes behind him. With a long suffering sigh, he turned around and saw Albus Dumbledore leaning on one of Hagrid's fences, an amused glint in his eyes as he eyed the rattling crate behind England. "Just had a lesson, Arthur?"

"Good afternoon, Albus," replied England as he gently placed the wooden cover on the crate. "What brings you down from your office today?"

"The weather is pleasant today," said Dumbledore amiably. "It is good to come out for fresh air once in a while, especially for an old creaky wizard like me cooped up in his office almost everyday."

"True," chuckled England, a wry smile on his face as he stretched to his full height. "But I'm willing to wager that _that_  is not the only reason you came down here."

Dumbledore smiled. "Sharp as always, Arthur," he said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Indeed, it is difficult to hold a conversation in the castle without being overheard."

"Tell me about it," said England with a sigh as he breathed in the air and threw a glance at the castle. "Umbridge is really starting to get on my nerves, much as I hate to admit it."

Dumbledore looked amused. "I can see your ego is still intact, my friend. Some things really don't change, do they?"

England decided to let that comment pass. "Indeed, and that includes the Ministry of Magic. One of the main reasons I don't keep in contact with them, in fact. The last time I tried to contact them, the then-Minister tried to have me thrown into Azkaban for  _apparently_  being a raving lunatic." At that particular memory, England couldn't help but roll his eyes. "It took me precious hours to convince them that I wasn't lying."

"You can't really blame them, Arthur," said Dumbledore. "They're just not comfortable with having you around, that's all."

England smiled bitterly. "Then wizards and normal humans aren't much different, are they? After all, neither side like me to hang around them."

"But yet you agreed to come to Hogwarts to teach." countered Dumbledore evenly. "I think that still says something about you, hm?"

Eyes flickering up to the castle again, England replied. "It has been a while since I returned to Hogwarts. When you sent me the invitation, how could I resist?" he chuckled, voice soft. "Hogwarts holds a special place in my heart, Albus, and teaching here is one of the greatest jobs I have ever taken up in my life.

"I'm glad of that." answered Dumbledore softly. "Deep down in your heart, you still enjoy it don't you? Teaching the young ones, imparting new knowledge unto them, seeing them grow, it still excites you, doesn't it?"

"As it does with you," replied England. His eyes drifted beyond Dumbledore's face to the figure that was striding down the green lawn that led to Hagrid's hut. "She's here, Albus. Say no more."

Umbridge drew closer to them, her cold eyes contradicting the smile on her face. "Hello, Albus." She didn't look at England at all, choosing to ignore him as if he was invisible. "I was looking for you in your office just now and the statue guarding the entrance told me that you were down here having a chat with... Professor Kirkland."

"Yes I was," replied Dumbledore amiably. "We were just discussing the possibilities of having a couple more Hippogriffs and Nifflers for Arthur's lessons. Who knows, we might even apply for a permit and bring in a dragon too."

"That sounds pleasant," said Umbridge in a voice that was anything but, her eyes flicking over England and his blood stained shirt. England stared back at her, his face neutral. After a few second, Umbridge lowered her eyes and refocused on Dumbledore. "Oh yes, I was supposed to pass this on to you, Albus." Out of her coat came a letter which, England had to squint to see it properly, was stamped with the official seal of the Ministry of Magic.

Silently, Dumbledore took the letter and opened it with a flick of his wand. Minutes ticked by as he read the contents, his face never giving anything away. After a full five minutes he tucked the letter into the pocket of his robes and cleared his throat. "Tell Cornelius I'll be awaiting his arrival together with my staff."

Umbridge smiled. "I knew you would agree, Albus." She looked smugly at England. "How about you, Professor Kirkland?"

England couldn't help but feel slightly irritated. "What about what, Dolores?" he said as politely as he could.

Dumbledore answered England's question, "Cornelius Fudge has called for a staff meeting with him at one in the afternoon. All teachers are required to attend, no exceptions."

"What?" was England's instant reply. "Why a sudden staff meeting?"

"Oh, Cornelius is very concerned with how the school is being run and of course," Here, Umbridge's lips curled. "He's also worried about the standards of the teachers, you know. Some teachers in the school are just not suitable for their posts, Albus, and Cornelius wants to see them personally before coming to a decision."

"Dolores, it also says in the letter that Lucius Malfoy will be attending," cut in Dumbledore, "I have reasons to belive that Malfoy is not in the board of directors anymore. He has no right to attend the metting."

"Oh, Lucius will be attending on behalf of all the concerned parents in the school," answered Umbridge sweetly, "I hope you don't mind, Albus."

"No, of course not, Dolores." said Dumbledore. Behind Umbridge, England's eyes had narrowed to green slits as he stared in disbelief at her. Umbridge was, he decided, either very brave or extremely daft by pushing Dumbledore all over to accommodate her requests. If it wasn't for Fudge's backing, she would just be another person with an overly huge ego, he idly thought.

At that moment, Umbridge turned to England and looked at him coldly. "Do you have anything you might want to say, Arthur?"

England would've dearly loved to give Umbridge a piece of his mind at that moment but with a little difficulty, he managed to shut his mouth and merely replied, "No, Dolores," in a manner as polite as he could muster at the moment.

"Good then!" said Umbridge happily, adjusting her pink cardigan. "I'll be expecting the both of you in the staffroom then. Good day, Albus." Here, she turned her nose at England. "And I would change into proper attire if I were you, Professor Kirkland." With that snide remark, she trotted back to to the castle, a garish display of pink marring an otherwise perfect scenery.

England groaned as he looked down at the blood stains on his shirt. "She's right," he mumbled. "I better get myself changed if I want to make a good impression on the Minister of Magic."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll be seeing you then, Arthur. Take care, and do be careful." With a sweep of his midnight-blue robes, Dumbledore walked back to the castle, taking the exact same path Umbridge has taken not long ago.

England leaned a little longer on the fence, his eyes fixated on Dumbledore's retreating figure. A slight wind blew in from the general direction of the lake, ruffling up his already unruly hair. It wasn't until a few minutes had passed did he finally start the long walk back to the castle, the wind still blowing behind him, albeit a little more mournfully now.

* * *

Harry and Ron weren't exactly in the greatest of moods as they stamped out of Snape's dungeon into the Great Hall for lunch. Even Hermione's face was sour.

The reasons were partly because Snape had been his usual self, which mean snarky remarks thrown at Harry every five minutes and the constant deduction of house points from Gryffindor, chiefly from Ron and Harry for trivial matters such as not being fast enough (by Snape's standard) in measuring out the proper weight of powdered Mandrake roots.

But the main reason for their black moods was Draco Malfoy.

Throughout the entire lesson, Malfoy had been speaking loudly with his bunch of friends, smiling nastily as he stirred the bubbling solution in his cauldron. "Yeah, my father just sent me a letter by owl today. He's coming with the Minister of Magic himself to inspect that Professor Kirkland chap. Seems like old Fudge isn't very happy about Dumbledore hiring a filthy Muggle to teach here. Mind you, at least that hairy oaf Hagrid was still half wizard. Bet you ten Galleons that Kirkland will get the sack after Fudge and my father are done with him."

At that point, Harry had tried to tune out everything Malfoy was saying and concentrate on cutting up his ingredients instead. But Ron had risen to the bait and said out loud to Malfoy across the room, "It was your own bloody fault for not listening to the professor during our lesson, Malfoy."

"Really now, Weasley," Malfoy had replied, his trademark ugly sneer on his thin, pointed face. "At least I wasn't the one who lost the two Nifflers he was supposed to be in charge of for the week."

"Professor Kirkland found them!" Ron had retorted, the tip of his ears starting to turn red.

"Yes, after the whole castle heard Professor Umbridge scream bloody blue murder from her office." Malfoy smirked as the Slytherin side of the class erupted into laughter.

Ron turned his back on Malfoy, his hands trembling in embarrassment as he shakily cut up his Mandrake roots and silently mouthing curses at Malfoy as he did so. Fortunately for Malfoy (or Ron himself), his wand was a good two metres away, stashed away safely in his school bag.

Malfoy continued chatting with his friends. "As I was saying before  _Weasley_  interrupted us, Father thinks that there's something off about Kirkland, something about his real age or something. Father reckons that he faked his age because Fudge found some really old office documents dated almost thirty-five years back about Kirkland in the archives. But you've all seen him, he can't possibly be a day over twenty-two or three and that's why Father's interested in him..."

"Maybe he's a Squib in disguise!" Pansy Parkinson had laughed nastily. "That'll explain his eyebrows! Unfortunate side effect of whatever aging spell he tried to use."

"He's a Muggle, Pansy," Hermione had cut in, "he can't use magic."

"Or so he says," Parkinson shot back, "Then explain to me how he can see magical creatures, or even Hogwarts for that matter. You're the know-it-all, you should know that Hogwarts is invisible to the Muggle eye!"

Before Hermione could open her mouth to answer, a familiar voice had interrupted the conversation. "Chatting in class now, Granger?"

Harry had looked up to from his intense chopping of roots only to find Snape hovering over the trio's table, a smirk on his face as he said, "Ten points from Gryffindor. Less chitchat, more work." And with that, Snape had swept away, ignoring the death glares being aimed at him from behind his back.

The rest of the Potions class was spent in hostile silence.

And now as Harry glumly tipped some pork chops onto his golden plate in the Great Hall, he briefly wondered if Malfoy was telling the truth about Professor Kirkland being much older than he claimed to be. But still, a Squib? In Harry's own opinion, Professor Kirkland being a Squib was as likely as Sirius being a real Death Eater.

Briefly, Harry glanced up the staff table. Even though he was seated far away from the staff table, he could almost literally see the tension emitting from the table. Professor McGonagoll's mouth was turned down in one of her infamous frowns and next to her, Professor Sprout was moodily picking at her potatoes, her mind a thousand miles away. And was it Harry's own imagination, or was Snape scowling more than usual today?

It was different story altogether at the other side of the staff table. Umbridge had a brilliant smile on her face as she looked up and down the Great Hall, scanning students at random. As Umbridge turned her toady face in his direction, Harry hurriedly looked down at his plate, determined not to make eye contact with her. His right hand throbbed slightly, the faint words etched into it "I must not tell lies." still visible from last night's round of detention.

"Harry? Are you all right?" asked Hermione concernedly, "You're not eating at all."

Harry looked up from his plate at Hermione. His eyes wandered again to the staff table. "Professor Kirkland's not in again," he said quietly.

"Oh, that bloke rarely eats," said Ron through a mouthful of peas, "I mean, I've only seen him a couple of times during meals. Maybe he eats his meals outside in Hagrid's cabin."

Harry shrugged in response, returning his attention to his now cold lunch.

"Something on your mind, Harry?" As though determined to prevent him from eating his meal, a hand clapped down on Harry's shoulder. Twisting his body around, Harry saw Fred Weasley (or was it George?) grinning down at him. "We overheard you mention Professor Kirkland's name."

"We?" enquired Hermione, "Where's George?"

"Here," said George breezily as he walked up to his twin's side from wherever he had been, "Sorry for the delay. Nifflers are a little hard to smuggle in sometimes."

"You!" spluttered Ron, "I knew it! You took those two Nifflers Professor Kirkland asked me to take care of for the week and decided to toss them into Umbridge's office, didn't you?"

George looked down seriously on his little brother, "Well, you should've been more careful with the Nifflers if you didn't want people using them for their own interests." Ignoring Ron's incomprehensible swearing, he turned to Harry, who merely looked bemused. "So Harry, you want to hear our idea?"

"Does it has something to do with Professor Kirkland?" said Hermione disapprovingly from the side. "Are you two planning something?"

Harry's curiousity was perked now. "What idea?"

Two identically devious smiles made their way onto the twins' faces.

Fred leaned in closer, as if he was sharing a closely guarded secret. "You know that Professor Kirkland says that he's a Muggle..."

"...but he can see magic, and according to reliable sources, works in the Muggle government as a top government official and advisor to the Muggle Prime Minister bloke..." continued George, his grin widening.

Hermione looked affronted. "How did you know all that?" asked she, not quite sure how to react.

The twins continued. "So we were both thinking, how could someone as young as he is hold a post so high in the Muggle government  _and_  is also apparently qualified to teach as a professor at the same time?"

"Fred and me then cracked our heads over it last night...quite literally."

"And came to the conclusion that our dear Professor Kirkland is hiding something..."

"Hey, even I could tell you that much!" said Ron loudly, waving his knife dangerously over his own head.

"Patience, Ron," said Fred, the same devious smile still on his face. "Now, as we were saying before  _someone_  interrupted us..."

"...our dear professor is clearly keeping mum about something really big..."

"...and we fully intend to find out what it is." finished Fred truimphantly. He looked at Hermione, who was clearly torn between blatant disapproval and a desire to know more. "What say you, Hermione? You willing to help us out now?"

"Why are you even bothering about Professor Kirkland?" argued Hermione feebly, "He doesn't even teach you!"

"It never pays to ask too many questions, Hermione." George winked at her, "Let's just say, our reputation as masters of trickery and deception are on the line..."

"Along with a few bags of Galleons." Fred chipped in.

Hermione sighed in defeat. Behind her, Ron and Harry shared a knowing grin. "Fine. What do you need?"

"You do know that Professor Kirkland is keeping a group of Hiporgriffs in a pen near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, right?" Fred's voice had turned all buisness-like. "At exactly half past one today, that is..." he checked the watch on his wrist, "About twenty minutes from now, all the Hippogriffs will be ' _mysteriously_ ' released into the school grounds..."

"And Professor Kirkland, as the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, will have no choice but to chase and recapture the runaway Hippogriffs, which will give the three of you exactly fifteen minutes to pop into his private quarters and find out as much as you want to know about him," continued George calmly, as if they were merely discussing homework instead of a break-out. "Our sources within the school have also told us of the staff meeting that will be taking place in about five minutes, so we will all be having a free study period. All you three have to do is sneak out and proceed to Professor Kirkland's quarters."

"A staff meeting?" echoed Harry. "Won't Professor Kirkland be interrupted if he has to go out halfway and run circles around the school to hunt down Hippogriffs?"

Fred's eyebrows arched. "Your point, Harry?"

"Anyway, this'll be a perfect opportunity for Professor Kirkland to show Fudge and that Umbridge woman that he's perfectly capable of taking on the Care of Magical Creatures post," said George.

"So Malfoy wasn't lying after all when he said Fudge was coming to school together with his father," said Harry bitterly.

Fred and George looked at Harry. "Lucius Malfoy is coming to the school?"

"Yeah, Malfoy was bragging about it in Potions just now," answered Ron angrily. "Showing off for his friends as usual."

George looked at Fred. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Fred?"

"Definitely," George grinned back at his twin. He then turned back to the trio. "Well, time's a-ticking away. Remember what we told you and oh, take this." Gingerly, George extracted a cloth-wrapped bundle from his pockets and handed it over to Harry. Just from feeling it, Harry knew what it contained and a ghost of a smile flittered onto his face.

"Thanks," said Harry genuinely. Ron just stared at him in bewilderement.

"No problem," George slapped Harry heartily on the back. "Well, have to be off now. Got to prepare a special welcome for Lucius Malfoy."

"A  _very_  special welcome." Fred elaborated.

To everyone's surprise, Hermione just snorted. "Oh, just get on with it already." she retorted, the smile on her face saying otherwise. "Just don't let Malfoy catch you."

"Yes,  _Mum,_ " chorused the twins deliberately as they walked out of the way. On their way out, Fred shouted at them one last time. "Oh and tell us about whatever you'll find in Kirkland's room!"

Harry just waved at them, a growing sense of discomfort in his head. Professor Kirkland had been really kind to him so far and in Harry's mind, breaking into the young professor's room was just as bad as betraying the professor's trust in him. But he didn't mention it to his friends as he turned around to face them and said bravely, "So, should we get started?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11- Breaking In**

"Scotland, I don't like this idea..."

"Well, do you have any other ideas?"

"Uh, no."

"Then you'll have no choice but to agree with our idea."

With a sigh, America flopped onto the nearest chair he could find and frowned at the woman hovering next to him, a thick book opened in her hands as she moved around the house, arranging various items and objects needed for the supposed 'spell' that would help get America into Hogwarts.

It didn't help that Scotland's two brothers were also helping out, determined to get revenge on their estranged brother who was currently teaching in Hogwarts for turning them into , had America forgot to mention? Wales and Ireland had apparently been lodging in Scotland's house when the cursed letter from England had arrived and voila! The spell had hit all three brothers and transformed them into very pissed off females, which quite frankly, made America twice as scared of them as he normally was.

"So," Wales said in a crisp tone as he (she?) strode out of the kitchen towards Scotland with a handful of what looked suspiciously like human eyeballs. America gagged inwardly, his face slowly turning pale green. "I got the ingredients ready. Do you want to start the spell now? Can't risk doing it after mid afternoon, you know. The sun's position isn't right during that time, and our friend here might end up in Azkaban by accident if you miscalculate."

"Please tell me those are some monkey's eyeballs and not what I think it is." pleaded America.

Wales gave the young nation a critical glare."You tell me. Found 'em in good ol' Scotty's magic room while I went looking for some other ingredients."

"Alright!" Scotland announced as he dusted his perfectly manicured fingers. "The chalk circle is set, the lamps are in place, and all we need now is for you," he pointed at America. "to stand in the middle of the chalk circle while all three of us recite the spell which, if it works, will apparate you right into Hogwarts. Oh, don't worry." he waved a hand dismissively at America as he opened his mouth. "Our special spell will get you right past all them protection and anti-whatsis spells placed by Albus on the school."

"Actually," America sighed. "I was wondering what was gonna happen to me after I get inside the school."

"Well, if you're lucky, you'll only get arrested and put on trial at the Ministry of Magic for breaking into Hogwarts and using beyond first-degree black magic to break in." Ireland said calmly as he walked into the room, a cauldron full of boiling purple liquid hissing and occasionally sending up multi-coloured sparks. "If you're unlucky, then you get the Dementor's kiss. I won't put it past Fudge to actually pull off something like that."

"Dementor's kiss?" As much as America tried to turn a blind eye to anything magical going on, he knew what a Dementor's kiss did to its victim. "You're kidding, right?"

"Stand in the middle, Yank." Wales ordered lazily, pushing his newly-found long hair over his shoulders.

"I'm not done asking-" America started but quickly decided against continuing his sentence as Ireland's eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to risk pissing off somebody who could easily splash acid or whatever it was in that cauldron on him.

As he stood awkwardly in the centre of the crudely drawn chalk circle, America couldn't help but shudder as he craned his neck reading the ancient runes drawn into the floor. This had never been his area, this realm of sorcery and witchcraft. He preferred his world, where one does battle by firing guns, not some hokey-pokey spell or-

Scotland had started chanting from the spell book, his brow furrowed as he deciphered the badly hand written book. Ireland was pouring the cauldron full of God knows what into the little groves dug into the floor around the external ring of the circle, the purple liquid sparking and hissing. Wales just stood to the side, casually dangling the eyeballs by one hand as he stared lazily at America, a smirk on his face as he enjoyed the nation's discomfort.

"Hey, guys? Or girls?" America called out from the middle of the circle, which was already starting to give off copious amounts of dark, green smoke thanks to the purple potion concocted by Ireland. "What really am I supposed to do once I get to Hogwarts?"

"Tell our bloody brother to give us the counter curse to this idiotic spell he put on us." Wales said as he stood up and smoothened the front of his skirt, the empty cauldron tossed to one side.

"Or we'll send him to Hell" Ireland continued. "Literally."

Something in the brothers' tone told America they weren't joking about the Hell part.

"What about me?" hollered America as the sparking from the potion and Scotland's chanting threatened to drown out his voice. "What am I supposed to do?"

Both brothers cackled as Scotland finally completed the spell and snapped the ancient book shut.

Already, America's form was fading as the spell worked its wondrous magic on him, his hands waving frantically amidst the smoke. Even though he probably couldn't hear them already, Scotland answered the American.

"Give that idjit hell from us, Yank!"

* * *

The trio were waiting around the corner, Ron's eyes twitching nervously as they saw Professor Kirkland walked out of his private quarters, dressed in a white Oxford and a black waistcoat. The young man took a quick glance at the watch on his wrist and huffed impatiently, taking off at a brisk pace towards the staff room where the staff meeting was taking place.

"A waistcoat?" Harry whispered as soon as the professor was out of sight. "What century is he living in? Why not just get a top hat to go along with that outfit?"

"Nothing wrong with his outfit." countered Ron. "Looks normal to me, mate. That's what a Muggle wears, right?"

"Just saying it looks ridiculous on somebody as young as he is." Harry replied. He was more used to Uncle Vernon wearing expensive waistcoats as he entertained guests at 12 Privet Drive, his bulging stomach stretching the poor waistcoat to its very limits. With a grimace, Harry tried to get rid of that particularly painful memory.

"Okay, go!" Hermione hissed. On tip-toes, the trio made their way to the wooden door of Professor Kirkland's quarters. "Let's see now..." she pointed her wand at the rusty lock. " _Alohorama_!"

The lock didn't click. "Fred was right." said Harry. " He doesn't lock his room with magic."

"I thought he might've at least asked one of the professors for help to enchant his lock." pondered Hermione.

"Or face it, the bloke might just liked locking his doors the good old fashioned Muggle way." said Ron wisely. "Only Fred, George, Dean or maybe Seamus know how to pick open Muggle locks. Umbridge won't know how to pick open a Muggle lock even if her life depended on it, so whatever our dear professor might want to hide from Fudge and company, his private room is the perfect place."

"Great." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, hand me whatever Fred gave you in that cloth bundle."

A few painful minutes later, the lock clicked open with a quiet snick. Smiling slightly at Harry and Ron's awestruck expressions, Hermione handed back the lock-picking tools to Harry. "Just a little handy skill I learnt in Muggle Studies." she explained, answering their silent question.

With Ron standing outside to guard the room, Harry and Hermione made their way into the room carefully, their eyes inspecting the room for any suspicious items. So far, everything looked normal. Bookshelves lined one entire side of the room and a huge antique, wooden desk sat in one corner of the room, papers and stacks of leather bound books sitting on the surface. A cold fireplace was on the opposite side of the room, an old worn armchair, it's edges frayed, placed strategically near it, The professor's neatly made bed was near the fireplace, the sheets smooth and clean.

Hermione took a deep breathe as she assessed the situation. "Okay Harry, you take his desk. I'll look around the bookshelves. And try not to pull everything out. We don't need him to come back to a messy room and have his suspicions raised."

With a sigh, Harry got to work. Carefully shifting aside mountains of parchment and books, he flipped through several books that appeared to be interesting but were nothing more than books used to record students' marks and behaviour. Oddly enough, there were also a few letters addressed to Professor Kirkland from the Muggle prime minister. The envelopes were empty, their contents probably burnt in the fireplace by the professor himself.

Harry opened up the drawers on the side of the desk, hoping to get more information there. The top two drawers revealed more paperwork and a book in which, when Harry opened, contained the professor's contacts and their numbers. Hurriedly, he noted down the names in his mind, saving them to his leaky memory and fervently hoping he wouldn't forget them. Not that they were easy to forget anyway. Who named their son (Harry had to narrow his eyes and turn the book sideways to read the names) Gilbert Beilschmidt and Alfred F. Jones anyway?

Over to the side, Hermione's search was going along just as well as his. She was randomly pulling out books and after taking one look at it, put it back onto the shelf with a disappointed huff and moved on to the next book only to repeat the same process again.

Finally, he tried the bottom drawer. It refused to open, merely rattling in it's fixed position when Harry tugged on the steel handle. With bated breathe, Harry quickly went to work on the drawer, using the Weasley twins' handy lock picking tools.

It worked, the lock turning slowly but surely as the wire worked its own magic on it.

With batred breathe, Harry pulled the drawer open, his head raging full of curiousity. What was it that the professor had kept locked away in this drawer even though there was only a very tiny possibility of someone manging to get past his Muggle padlocked door? Surely it must be something of great importance to him.

Ah yes, he could see it now... the light from the harsh afternoon sun shining in through the window illuminating the contents in the previously locked drawer perfectly.

"Hermione," Harry called out, "I think we've found it. The professor's journal."

* * *

Fred was waiting as George limped back into the Great Hall, his red hair sticking up at odd angles and the side of his school robes torn. Even so, he grinned and gave his waiting twin the thumbs up.

"I got the other part done." Fred stated as he supported George back to the Gryffindor common room. "Have to ask Lee to help us mend your robes too or dear old Mum will throw a fit."

"Well clearly she has never tried opening the door to a pen of hungry Hiporgriffs and nearly becoming their main course by accident." George muttered dryly as he flattened his hair.

Both twins laughed aloud to themselves in the empty corridor, startling a group of witches in a nearby portrait as their minds gleefully awaited the outcome of their pranks.

* * *

England sat himself down on the hard wooden chair, stifling a yawn as he made himself comfortable. He hadn't managed to sleep at all last night, staying up until morning to mark all his students' papers. And just when his afternoon was free for the day, Fudge had to pay Hogwarts a visit. Typical, he thought darkly to himself as he glanced around the table. Judging by his colleagues' expressions, most of them were on the same boat as him.

"Staff meeting with the Minister, more like time for Fudge and Malfoy to pass more rules on us." Professor McGonagoll scowled fiercely. " I've had enough of this nonse-"

"There there, Minerva!" squeaked old Professor Flitwick, the top if his pointed wizard hat barely reaching the shoulders of Professor McGonagoll. "We all have to deal with it for the sake of the students! If there's widespread disagreement amongst the staff and the Ministry, imagine the chaos it'll caused to the school!"

"Yes, we all know that, but how long can we cope?" Professor Sprout said lowly. "This charade can last us one year at the most. Without the Minister's approval, we can't set up strong defensive spells around the school. Sooner or later, You-Know-Who will find a way in and get Potte-"

"We will protect the school for as long as possible for the students' sake, with or without the Ministry's approval." Professor McGonagoll said sharply. "Until then, we will all make do with what we have." She looked at England, who had not spoken a single word at all. "Still with us, Professor Kirkland?"

"Yes, Minerva." said England, shifting his weight. "I will be glad to offer everything I have to assist you on this matter."

All the professors nodded, except for Professor Snape, who just stared coldly at England, his dark eyes mistrustful. England held his glare for as long as possible before the professor dropped his gaze to the table in front of him, his pale fingers twitching to his wand's pocket.

Just before the situation in the room could get anymore tense, the door to the staff room opened and a disheveled Fudge stumbled into the room, an equally rattled Umbridge and Malfoy following close behind. Dumbledore closed the door behind them as they entered, an amused glint in his eyes.

Professor McGonagoll rose to greet the Minister. "Cornelius, we are very honoured to have you here-"

"Yes, I bet you are." Fudge breathed heavily, his eyes wild. "Your students seem to think so too!"

"Pardon?" Professor McGonagoll replied, her mouth a thin line of disapproval at Fudge's rudeness.

Dumbledore took it upon himself to explain. "As we were coming up to the staff room, the corridors leading here were, to put it mildly, terraformed into different environments." Now England understood the amused glint in the Headmaster's eyes, and he couldn't help but smile slightly. Who else could it be but Hogwarts' infamous pranksters, the Weasley twins, who were behind this latest joke?

"We had to trudge through a tundra, a scorching desert and a bloody swamp before we reached here!" Fudge shouted, his face turning red. "As professors, shouldn't you be doing more to curb the disciplinary problems at the school? Especially if students are allowed to use magic in the corridors when I clearly remembered otherwise!"

"Now Cornelius," Professor Flitwick spoke up, his voice sharp. " We are doing our best, but accusing us blatantly like this without evide-"

"Then why didn't you clean up the mess before the Minister visited?" Malfoy spoke in a low tone of derision. "Surely one of you could've fixed the corridors before we arrived."

"Someone must've pulled the prank the minute you entered the school, Cornelius, because I certainly don't recall seeing any aforementioned environments in the corridors." said Professor McGonagoll in a clipped tone. "Rest assured we will catch the one who's behind it. In the meantime, I recalled that we had called a meeting to address some issues...?" The sarcasm was positively dripping from the professor's words as she stared at Fudge, her eyes narrowed.

England raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore who merely winked at him, unseen by the others, silently reassuring him that it was alright to go ahead and introduce himself. He cleared his throat and stood up, offering his hand to Fudge. "I believe we are meeting for the first time, Minister. My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I'm the new teacher for Care of Magical Creatures."

Fudge looked him once over hurriedly, not sure what to make of this young man in a waistcoat. Awkwardly, he shook England's hand. "Ah yes, yes. Hagrid's replacement for the time being, right? Pleasure, pleasure indeed to meet you..." he was mumbling to himself now as he looked at England again, his brow furrowed. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"

Umbridge leaned into Fudge's ear and whispered a few hurried words. With a nod, Fudge pulled back from Umbridge and addressed England again. "Professor Kirkland, after the general meeting is over, could I have a few words with you in er, private? I won't take long, just need to sort out some issues that you might have here since you're a Muggle."

With an inward groan, England nodded. "It'll be my pleasure, Minister."

* * *

With quick strides, Hermione leaned by Harry's side and examined the battered leather bound book, a few odd pages sticking up on the top. A few colourful bookmarks could be seen peeking from the side, their edges faded, leaving Harry to wonder just exactly how old the journal was.

"Alright,  _Geminio_!" whispered Hermione as she waved her wand over the journal. An exact, duplicated copy of the journal appeared in Harry's lap as she hurriedly replaced the original in the drawer, locking the drawer with the skeleton key Fred had given Harry.

"Are you guys done yet?" Ron called out from his position at the door. "What if Malfoy comes across us here? What are we going to say to him?"

"Malfoy junior or senior?" said Harry cheekily as he slipped the journal inside his robes. It wad small enough to go unnoticed by anyone except himself. "Because I'm pretty sure Malfoy senior is at a meeting right now."

All was going along so well. They had the journal, everything was back in place and nobody had caught them at it. It was just their luck that at the moment, Professor Kirkland's fireplace flared to life, red and blue flames dancing in unison together as smoke started filling the room, grey ashes crumbling down onto the carpet.

"What in blazes is going on here?" Ron yelled as he looked into the room and saw the smoke. "Wha-?"

"Ron get down!" shrieked Hermione as she dragged Harry down onto the floor. "NOW!" The urgency in her tone betrayed her anxiety as Ron dutifully threw himself onto the floor. Seconds later, the fireplace exploded and something or someone rolled out from the fireplace, sending up more black soot and sparks into the room even as Harry tried to get rid of the soot coated on his glasses and impairing his vision.

A black shape lay sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace, coughing and hacking as it moved slightly, its clothes covered with a thick layer of ash. With a snort, the person sat up and stared straight into Harry's eyes, brilliant blue meeting green, both also bespectacled.

"Hi there!" said America bemusedly, a wide grin on his dirt-smudged face "I don't happen to be at Hogwarts, do I?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12- Reunion**

_"Hi there!" said America bemusedly, a wide grin on his dirt-smudged face "I don't happen to be at Hogwarts, do I?"_

Mouth agape, Harry attempted to gather his thoughts quickly as he tried to answer the strangely familiar young man's question but instead all his mouth managed to say was "How?"

"I'm not very sure myself." the young man answered him seriously. "Last thing I remember was standing in the middle of Scott's magical circle and next thing I knew, I was stuck in the middle of a chimney and when I tried to move, well, I kinda automatically found myself sliding all the way down... here." He looked around the room, his blue eyes widening with recognition. "Hey, I remember that book! And all those documents! And those are the letters I sent him! That jerk! So he did receive my letters after all!"

Hermione and Ron stood up slowly, their legs shaky. Hermione was staring at the young man like he was an unknown species, her eyes narrowed. "But how did you get inside Professor Kirkland's chimney?" she demanded loudly. "There are layers of defensive magic around the school, I don't think someone like you are capable of breaking them all and inside a chimney no less-"

The young man ignored Hermione as he sprang up, brushing his gloved hands on his trousers as he addressed Harry again. "Do you know whose room is this?" he asked.

"It's Professor Kirkland's room." answered Harry. The young man abruptly whooped with joy and hugged Harry tight. His glasses askew, Harry swore he heard several of his ribs creak ominously as the man hugged him.

"I got it right this time!" the oddly familiar young man babbled on as he continued hugging Harry. "Thank God for good old Scott and his totally mean brothers! Oh wait, I didn't introduce myself. I'm so sorry." He finally released Harry and held out a hand to him. "I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

The moment he said it, something clicked in Harry's mind. And from his friends' expressions, he wasn't the only one. Alfred, Alfred...Jones. And he had seen that name in the professor's contact book just a few minutes ago too! And there had been another name next to it... a Matthew Williams? Harry vaguely remembered the professor's writing next to the name Alfred F. Jones and it had read, in capital letters and red ink, "IGNORE AMERICA IF HE CALLS"

What Harry said next probably wasn't smart but he couldn't help himself. "Do you happen to know anyone called Matthew?"

Alfred stared. " How did you know about Matt?"

"That doesn't matter right now!" Ron whispered frantically as he peered out of the professor's room. "Malfoy and his gang are coming right up the corridor! What do we do...?"

Sure enough, Harry could hear Malfoy's obnoxious voice floating up into the room from the corridor outside. "Yeah, Father just arrived and they're trying to press for a stronger presence of the Ministry when it comes to appointing the staff and choosing the school syllabus and-"

Goyle answered Malfoy. "But I heard that your dad got stuck in a swamp on his way to the meeting room...?"

Malfoy's answer was a snarl. "It was those Weasleys again. The twins. Always pulling pranks and sticking their faces where they don't belong. Blood traitors are always the worst of the bunch..."

Hermione, forever reliable, was the fastest. In a blink, she'd dragged Harry, Ron and Alfred behind Professor Kirkland's desk, hiding them from view. With her wand pointed at the door, she muttered a complex spell and the wooden door silently closed itself. It wouldn't do if Malfoy peeked into the room and saw the mess. It would give him one more reason to kick out Professor Kirkland, and Hermione was taking none of his nonsense today.

Malfoy's footsteps echoed into the room, and stopped as he paused in front of Professor Kirkland's room, his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle, stopping along with him. Harry heard the doorknob rattle as Malfoy attempted to open the door and saw the shadows of their feet through the crack at the bottom of the door.

"No use, it's locked." said Malfoy, bored.

"We could unlock it and take a look since da' filthy Muggle is at a staff meeting-"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Malfoy snapped as Harry held his breathe. Next to him, Alfred had gone still, his expression blank. "We don't know what we're dealing with here! Kirkland isn't exactly a Muggle and you know that! And I'm not going digging around in his room until I know there aren't vampires or dead bodies in there!" Was it Harry's imagination, or could he hear a slight quiver of fear in Malfoy's voice? Next to Harry, Ron snorted and whispered "Coward." under his breathe.

"Come on, let's go. Maybe I'll go dock some points off that idiot Longbottom. I heard he accidentally dropped all the ink bottles near the Astronomy tower just now." The laughter accompanying them slowly faded away as their footsteps grew softer before it faded away completely.

Harry released his breathe, something he hadn't realised he was even doing as he peeked out over the professor's desk to make sure the coast was clear. "It's okay, they're gone now." he called out softly. Next to him, Hermione got up from the floor, pulling Ron up together with her.

Alfred was already standing, shuffling his feet uncomfortably as he stared around the room, eyes taking in his surroundings. "Uh, so...do you happen to know where Arthur is?" he asked awkwardly in an attempt to break the tense environment. "Uhm, you know... I did come here specially to find him... and I do have a favour to ask of him...?"

"Technically, Professor Kirkland is in an important staff meeting right now," started Hermione but Harry interrupted her. "He's in the main staff room with the Minister of Magic, Umbridge and Malfoy. We can take you to him if you want to."

Hermione stared at Harry. "But-"

"Yeah., Hermione, Alfred did come all the way here to see his friend." interjected Ron. "Shouldn't keep him waiting, should we?"

Hermione threw up her hands in defeat. "Fine! Have it your way! But don't blame me if Umbridge gives us detention for the entire year when we interrupt her meeting!"

"Fair enough." Harry pointed at the locked door sheepishly. "Er, Hermione...?"

"Hm? Oh yes, sorry." Hermione whispered an incantation under her breathe as she flicked her wand, and just as silently as it'd locked itself, the door opened.

"Come on then," Harry gestured for Alfred to follow him. "Let's just hope we won't be held responsible for this mess."

* * *

England leaned back as he listened to Fudge talking. Strangely enough, he wasn't paying attention and that wasn't something he usually did when someone was talking. Except if France was disturbing him, that is.

A strange cawing sound reached his ears. With a frown, he straightened his back and stared around the room. Professor McGonagoll was glaring at Umbridge, her glasses slipping dangerously down the bridge of her nose. Umbridge, to her credit, wasn't looking back and was merely staring adoringly up at Fudge as if he was the light of the world. Malfoy was twirling his cane by the side, looking just as equally bored as England was. Dumbledore was also looking at Fudge severely as he continued blathering on about education reforms for the 'good of the students and society'.

None of them could have possibly cawed like a bird, could they?

The same impossibly familiar strange cawing sound reached his ears. He couldn't stand it any longer. He stood up from and pushed his chair back, prompting a "Professor Kirkland, what on earth...?" from Professor Sprout as he made his way to the window, pushing aside the curtains and looking out at the grounds intently.

Fudge was rightfully annoyed that his grand speech on education reforms were being ignored by the new professor, and a Muggle at that. "Professor Kirkland, I must insist that you-!"

"Hush!" England hissed, shutting Fudge up unintentionally. "I heard something. Did anyone hear it too?"

Silence fell in the room.

"I hear nothing at all, Professor!" Fudge spluttered, his face turning red partially due to embarrassment and fury. "Now if you'd please sit down and allow me to continue-"

Dumbledore had joined England at the window, his expression concerned. "What is it, Arthur?" he asked softly. Dumbledore knew better than to assume nothing had happen and England was merely hallucinating.

"I heard... it can't be..." England mumbled as he prayed hardly to God that the strange sounds weren't made by what he thought it was.

A flash of bronze at the edge of his eyes caught his attention. Ignoring more complaints from Umbridge and Fudge (thank goodness the other professors weren't complaining and were just sitting at their places, amused.), England threw open the window and his heart sank.

"The Hiporgriffs." he breathed out in disbelief, his eyes wide. Sure enough, his Hiporgriffs, which were supposed to have been locked into their pen, were cantering around the school grounds curiously, sunlight reflecting off their multicoloured feathers as they cawed at each other, delighting in their short-lived freedom.

"Right," England thought and breathed heavily as he tried to process the situation. " _Right_. I have two dozen Hiporgriffs running around the school unattended and they could possibly attack anyone if I'm not down there right now. Think, England,  _think_! The safety of the students are at risk here, my job is also at stake..."

Out loud, he announced to the astonished room. "I have to make a move right now and if you'll excuse me...?" Dumbledore didn't even try to stop him as he dashed to the door and pulled it open, fully intent on getting downstairs and sorting out his Hiporgriffs.

"Professor, this is unacceptable behaviour-!" Umbridge and Fudge were yelling at him furiously at the same time whereas Malfoy just looked smug. The other professors had rushed to the window and could see, with wide mouths, the Hiporgriffs walking scot-free around the school grounds.

"Good grief...!" said Professor Sinatra faintly. "But how?"

As England flung the door open, at the same time, the door was opened on the other side by none other than Harry, who merely gaped as he stared up at a surprised Professor Kirkland whose mouth was opened wide like a goldfish.

England tried to recollect his dignity as he looked down at his student. "Potter, this isn't exactly a good time to be asking about the homework I gave you last week-"

Alfred then decided to poke his head around Harry at the same time. Both his and England's eyes widened consecutively as they stared at each other for a long second before they both spoke at the same moment.

" _Alfred_?!"

"Arthur!"

* * *

"Sir, w-we've received word from Malfoy at Hogwarts..."

A malevolent hiss greeted that sentence. "What is it, Wormtail? I don't have time to deal with Lucius Malfoy and his own personal grudges at Hogwarts..."

"Sir, it's about t-them. The project you've been researching about... Malfoy thinks he might have something for you regarding that..."

An icy pause. "Really now?"

"He thinks o-o-one of them might've become a new p-professor at Hogwarts..."

Disbelief coloured the next sentence spoken. "Does he now? It is unusual for one of them to show themselves so openly... matters must be more dire than I thought on their end..."

"What should I tell Malfoy?"

A rustling sound as the speaker stood up to its full height. "Tell him to keep an eye out on the professor and report everything to me. The situation is accelerating even faster than I thought. The plan shall be brought forward to accommodate it." A high laugh followed soon after. "Let the show begin."

* * *

Harry shifted his leg nervously as he waited outside Professor Dumbledore's office. Next to him was Hermione, her eyes wild as she bit her lips. Ron was just as equally scared, occasionally mumbling "We're going to get expelled, we're going to get expelled," to himself as he looked left and right for no apparent reason.

The door to the office creaked open, and Professor Dumbledore looked out, his eyes twinkling kindly. "Please enter, the three of you." he said. "Professor Kirkland would like to hear your side of the story."

Hands trembling slightly, Harry stood up. With a deep sigh, he entered the office, Hermione and Ron following closely behind.

Professor Kirkland was striding up and down the length of the office, his waistcoat torn and bloody. There were also multiple bandages wrapped around his head and hands, blood staining the white cloth. His green eyes were blazing with emerald fire, an anger of sorts that Harry had never seen before in his life. Sitting bashfully in an armchair near the fireplace was Alfred, his legs crossed as his eyes followed Professor Kirkland's every movement. And standing rather stiffly near Professor Dumbledore's desk were Fudge, Umbridge and Malfoy, all three looking rather rattled at recent events.

Professor Dumbledore closed the door behind them softly and then walked ahead of them to his desk, planting both hands on the top as he looked at the crowd in his office. "Now please, Harry. Your story, from the top. And don't leave anything out."

Harry glanced briefly at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly at him. Mentally bracing himself, Harry proceeded to tell everyone the tale of how they'd been walking past Professor Kirkland's private quarters to get to Gryffindor tower when they'd heard noises from within, and managed to open the door with the help of the Weasley twins' handy 'tools'. At this, Professor Kirkland snorted, part amused, part disbelief at the fact that the Weasley twins had Muggle lock picking tools.

"So when we got into the room, we found Alfred lying on the carpet and he, er, demanded to see Professor Kirkland so we brought him to you, sir." Harry said and looked straight at Professor Kirkland, expecting a scolding from the professor as he finished his tale. From his position, Harry could see the raised eyebrows on Alfred at the manner Harry had somehow tweaked his tale, but nevertheless the American remained silent. Silently, Harry thanked him and vowed to repay him later.

"And those Hiporgriffs, Professor Kirkland?" demanded Fudge loudly. " I presume they are properly locked away...?"

"Yes." answered the professor grimly. "And when I was locking them up, guess what I saw." He rummaged around in his pockets before pulling out a melted piece of steel. "This used to be my padlock. Somebody used magic on the padlock. Hiporgriffs may be smart, but they certainly cannot unlock themselves from their pen. This was sabotage, plain and simple. Somebody wanted a distraction, and they got it." Professor Kirkland sighed. "I don't know what's happening here, but I'm certainly not happy with the turn of events."

Malfoy eyed Alfred as he lounged on the armchair with distaste as he spoke. "And this Alfred. What do you plan to do with him?"

"I will deal with him  _privately_  together with Albus." The way Professor Kirkland's voice changed chilled Harry to the bone. "This is not the first time Alfred has done something as foolish as this. Rest assured that he will be properly dealt with."

"Alright then..." said Fudge distractedly as he twirled his bowler hat in his hands. "Potter, Granger, Weasley... off you three go now... I have some urgent matters to discuss with Albus here..."

Relief at the release, Harry quickly excused himself and made his way out of the office. Even as he exited, he could feel Professor Kirkland's gaze boring into him like lasers and Alfred's startling blue eyes following him as he closed the door.

It wasn't until they were about five corridors away that Ron finally broke the ice. "Well, that went better than expected. Kirkland didn't even ask us any questions"

"He didn't believe us." said Harry with certainty as he strode towards Gryffindor tower. "I could see it in his eyes. He just didn't want to say anything in front of Fudge and his gang."

"Well, do you think you still have detention with Umbridge tonight?" whispered Hermione. "I mean, after all that happened today..."

"I'm going." said Harry flatly. "I'm not taking any chances with her. She could easily give me another week worth of detention just because I didn't show up tonight."

Ron looked anguished. "But the Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow and you have detention!"

Harry laughed humourlessly. "Got no choice, have I? If she continues giving me detention, I'm never going to have any time for Quidditch practices."

With that gloomy afterthought, the trio made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, their minds weighed down with the thoughts of tomorrow.

* * *

"So will you be passing the decree soon?" pressed Fudge.

"The one that allows dear Dolores the power to inspect all the teachers and make sure that they are up to scratch?" answered Dumbledore tiredly. "Yes, my dear Cornelius. I will put it into effect as soon as possible."

Fudge made a satisfied sound at the back of his throat as he replaced the bowler hat on his head. "Then I will be seeing you soon, Albus. Lucius will be paying occasional visits to the school too to make sure everything is in place. Good day to you, Albus. And please, get rid of the American soon. We don't need more uninvited guests here in Hogwarts." With a flash of his cloak and a glare shot at America, Fudge walked out of Dumbledore's office, Umbridge and Malfoy following closely behind but not before eyeing Alfred with a disgusted look. It wasn't until the door had fully closed did America started talking. "Arthur, I'm so sorry I just didn't-"

"Who helped you get into the school?" said England, his voice dangerously soft.

"Your brothers." replied America, his eyes narrowed at his former mentor's tone. "They were pretty pissed about the gender switching spell you cast on them and they told me to get my ass here and ask you for the counter-curse..."

"Oh, but you had a different reason for coming here didn't you?" snarled England, his temper flaring. "Come to disturb me wherever I go, eh?"

Hurt filled America's eyes. "I didn't-"

"Oh no you didn't think of that because all you could think of was seeing me again just to make sure I wasn't hurt or dead!" England hurled the words furiously at America, not caring about their other audience in the room. "I've told you before, I'm _fine_! You didn't had to worry! But you never did listen, did you? I told everyone that at the world meeting, and none of you bloody jerks listened to a single word I was saying, per usual!"

America glared at England, his patience wearing thin. "Look here, Arthur-"

"I'm sending you back, you hear me?" shouted England, running his hands through his messy blonde hair. "I'm not having another one of you disturbing me when I have a job to run and children to teach-!"

"Then why didn't you answer your letters?" yelled back America. "I sent hundreds of them and I got nothing in return, you ass! I came all the way here from my own place just to see if you were doing okay on behalf of all the other guys and you just shout at me for nothing!" He took a deep breathe to calm himself down. "And I'm not going back. Not without you, you hear that?"

Silence as England processed America's last sentence. "No you're bloody well not staying here. There are no more places here for-!"

"Actually, if I may interrupt, Arthur," said Dumbledore as he came in between England and America, his hands held up in a peace gesture after all the bickering. "Madam Hooch has actually sent out an advertisement for an assistant on the Quidditch field, and I was thinking, if Mr. Jones here doesn't want to leave, maybe he could fill that post...?"

England gaped at Dumbledore. It wasn't until a minute had passed before he answered, sarcasm evident in his tone. "Albus, I doubt Alfred knows what Quidditch is, much less the knowledge on how to ride a broomstick..."

"Of course I know what it is, Arthur," shot back America, much to England's surprise. "I'm not as dumb as you make me out to be. Quidditch is a very popular wizarding game, played on broomsticks. There are seven players on each team. One Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers and one Seeker. The game ends when the Seeker catches the Golden Snitch and-"

Dumbledore chuckled and clapped a stunned England on the back. "Well, it looks like Mr. Jones is perfectly suited to be a referee for our Quidditch matches, hm?"

"B-but how-?" mouthed England, still stunned.

America pointed at finger at himself, silently mouthing behind Dumbledore's back. "I'm the hero,  _duh_."

England's voice shook as he spoke. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just tie you up and hurl you back home this instance, Alfred."

"Why should I even give you a reason, Arthur?" countered America, folding his arms as he awaited the older nation's response.

"Because it's dangerous and I don't want you hurt." England's voice was flat as he spoke the blunt truth. "The wizarding world is on the verge of war, and if we're not careful, you'll get burned by it. This is  _not_  your war and you have no part in this, so I would suggest you get away as fast as you can before you get sucked into it." England softened his tone as he explained further. "Look, I just don't want you to get involved in this nonsense. It's not for young nations like you. This... it's magic, faeries, spells and curses. Never your area, eh?"

"Listen here, old man." replied America, his eyes shining strangely. "I don't care if it's not my area. I hate magic, I'm scared of it yeah, but that doesn't mean I won't get involved. And don't give me any of the dangerous bullshit. I got a whole lecture from your asshat brother about coming here, and you know what? I still came even though I knew how you were gonna react. And once I commit myself to something, I'm not turning back. So," he jabbed a finger into England's chest. "You're stuck with me for the entire school year now. I'm not letting you run around without someone to watch your back. Oh, don't complain, I know how you are when you're alone. You take reckless risks, and you don't even bother to consider about the effects it might have on yourself because you're so old, you just don't care anymore. So I'll be here now, and you better damn well bet that I'll be looking after your back, get it?"

England sighed as his head dropped slightly in defeat. "Alright." he finally said, his voice strangely high-pitched. "Whatever you want. But you better sort your priorities out, get it? I'm not going to save your sorry arse everytime you mess up."

A huge grin split America's face, and England managed a weak smile back before commenting dryly. "You know, you look awful with all that soot from the chimney."

America snorted. "Says the dude who got attacked by his own pet eagle hybrids."

"Oh, just shut up-" England's sentence was cut off as America pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, his breathe tickling his ears, the ashes from America's own clothes dirtying his waistcoat.

"Hey, I really missed you." America whispered.

Tears pooled in England's eyes as he hugged the American back furiously. "Yeah. Me too."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13- The Net Tightens**

"Where's America?"

The dreadful realisation that America had also gone tragically missing like his eccentric former mentor England spread like wildfire throughout the entire world within a few hours, and phone calls were soon made by very important people in very important places, all asking each other the same question.  _"Have you seen America?"_

Sooner or later, the news reached Scotland, who was lounging in France's house. He was all smiles again, the stupid gender switching spell having worn off after a letter had been sent to him, the counter-curse (and a few other choice suggestions on which weapons to use on certain parts of his body) written in familiar handwriting. It was after he had finished performing the spell when he had picked up a call from Canada, who was going hysterical. The poor boy was almost in tears as he asked the older nation if he had any information concerning his twin brother, and  _please_  could he tell him if he did know anything concerning America's whereabouts.

"Look laddie," groaned Scotland as he shifted himself into a more comfortable position on France's sofa. "I know he's your twin brother and all, but yer twin doesn't want to be found at the moment. Give him a rest, will ya?"

Canada, being the intuitive person he was, instantly picked up on Scotland's edgy tone. "So you do know something?"

Scotland was silent for a second too long before he replied. "Maybe."

Canada pressed on. "Scotland please, this is no laughing matter. America's boss is going nuts over here and he thinks I know something about America because he's my brother and all so if you do know something..."

"Al right, calm down boy!" said Scotland, his patience frayed. "But promise me you won't tell anybody, and if someone does find out, don't invovle me in any of the mess that comes after it, okay?"

A heartbeat passed. "I promise." came the short reply.

"Right." Scotland sighed. This was it. He was going to be in deep trouble after this. "America begged me to send him to where his dear England was, so I sort of helped the young laddie get into Hogwarts." A pause. "He should be doing fine there, boy. No need to worry."

"You-" Canada's voice was hushed, but Scotland could hear the anger in it. "America's in Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, that's the general gist of it." Scotland mentally shrugged. "His well-being is in England's hands now."

Awkward silence. "I'll get back to you about this." seethed Canada from the other side of the line before it went dead.

"Boy sure has a temper when he wants to show it." muttered Scotland as he threw the mobile phone onto the table in front of him before leaning back on the sofa.

"Trouble?" asked France as he entered the living room with his own mobile phone dangling loosely from his right hand. "I just had Spain asking me if  _I_  had kidnapped our dear America and perhaps locked him up as a nasty sort of kink-"

"Whoa, stop right there. I don't want to hear any more " said Scotland as he grabbed two pillows and buried himself in it. "Shut up and get away if yer don't have anything important yo say, yer git."

"Touchy." muttered France, shaking his head sadly as he exited the room, but not before shouting back. "Don't ruin my sofa, you uncouth highlander!"

Scotland merely snorted and went back to burying himself in the pillows, metally reminding himself to pour his next cup of tea all over France's sofa.

* * *

"So, Keeper eh?" Harry said merrily as he sat down next to Ron at the table for breakfast. "Ready for your first practice?"

"Er, about that Harry..." Ron turned to face Harry. "Ehm, can you, give me some practice before training? So I won't, you know..."

"Yeah, no problem." said Harry.

Next to him, Hermione tutted. "Really now, the both of you. You're behind in your homework and we still have to look through that journal of Professor Kirkland's..."

Harry was saved at that moment by the delivery owl which landed right in front of them, the  _Daily Prophet_ clutched in its beak as it held out a leg. Hermione dropped a Knut into the leather pouch and the owl took off, dropping the newspaper and upsetting a bowl of cereal as it went.

"Anything?" asked Ron.

Hermione's expression was furious as she scanned the front page. "What... oh no, it's Sirius!"

"What?" Harry snatched the newspaper from her hands and read the headline. " _The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off that Sirius Black, a notorious blah blah blah... might be hiding himself in London!_ "

"But...how?" said Hermione, anguished.

"Lucius Malfoy." growled Harry. "I bet you anything he recognised Sirius when he came to the platform to send us off. Malfoy did mention something dodgy to me on the train..."

Hermione had snatched back the newspaper from Harry and was now scanning the entire newspaper like a hawk. "Sturgis Podmore..." she said out loud. "Hm, I wonder why he did that...he's part of the Order too..."

Ron and Harry paid her no further attention as they finished their breakfast, the two of them discussing Sirius' safety under their breathes. As they walked down the Quidditch field, broomsticks in hand, Harry glanced around cautiously. Despite the news about Sirius and all, he had also heard the grand tale which had spread like wildfire of how Professor Kirkland had apparently fought with two dozen Hipporgriffs and managed to get them back into their pen within the hour. And even though the poor professor had tried his best to clean up, evidence was still around. The occasional spot of blood showed up on the grounds, along with a few feathers and matted fur. With a shudder, Harry tried to ignore the mental image of Professor Kirkland battling with his own Hipporgriffs and getting gravely injured.

They practised for about an hour and by the time they went back to the dressing room, the entire team was there. Fred and George gave Harry the thumbs up as he came in and Harry smiled back a little weakly.

"So, Ron." said Angelina briskly as she entered the dressing room. "Right, it's your first practice so I want you to pay extra attention to how we play, and I want you to concentrate especially on our defensive pattern. Fred, if you could bring out the ball crate for us over there. Oh and there are a few people watching outside, but I want you guys to ignore them okay?"

Something in Angelina's disapproving tone told Harry exactly who was watching them and sure enough he wasn't mistaken. As soon as they exited the dressing room, a chorus of boos met his ears as he glanced up and saw almost the entire Slytherin Quidditch team sitting in the stands along with a few random other passer-bys. Their jeers echoed around the empty stadium, and Harry saw Ron gulp and clutch his broom even tighter.

"Hey Potter!" Malfoy's catcall could be heard clearly. "You okay there? Are you sure you don't want to book a hospital bed in advance before the match?"

"Ignore them." The entire Gryffindor team turned around in surprise and Harry's eyes almost bugged out of his sockets. Strolling towards them casually with a plate of pancakes in one hand was Alfred, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck. He was dressed in simple black robes but beneath it he was still wearing his shirt from the first time Harry had seen him, though it had been cleaned.

Alfred raised his eyebrows as he caught the entire team looking at him. "What? Never seen a dude eating pancakes before? Man, you've gotta try these. I never knew Britain had such great pancakes before, though Canada's ones are still better. I rate these a seven and a half out of ten. Canada's get a one million out of ten though."

"Excuse me, but who are you?" said Angelina politely.

"Hmeh?" said Alfred through a slice of pancake. "Oh, just your new Quidditch assistant, keeper of the grounds and part-time referee. Oh look! Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley! Hey there, guys! Didn't know you were on the Gryffindor team, honestly speaking!" He waved wildly at them using his other hand, which was sticky with syrup.

"Do you know him?" Fred asked Harry.

"Uh, sort of..." said Harry lamely as he tried to comprehend the American staring at him. "But I thought Professor Kirkland planned to send you back...?"

Alfred waved him off. "Oh, Arthur. He makes really grand plans but that doesn't mean they actually work." He looked at the team, who were still staring at him as though he'd grown a second head. "Well? Aren't you guys supposed to be practising Don't let me interrupt, geez! And you lot over there!" He was shouting at the Slytherins now. "I'm technically a teacher now so if I hear one more jeer out of you lot, I'm gonna deduct points from your house, get it?"

"Who are you?" shouted Malfoy down at Alfred, a scowl on his face.

"Alfred F. Jones, assistant Quidditch referee and caretaker of the grounds!" shouted back Alfred at Malfoy, much to the amusement of the Gryffindor team. "Now sit back and watch the Gryffindor team, kid! I've got a feeling they're really good!" He winked at Harry, and Harry couldn't help but grin. Alfred's enthusiasm was catchy, and sure enough, the Gryffindor team were looking perky, their eyes bright.

Practice was smooth even though it was Ron's first time and everytime the Slytherins started their catcalls, Alfred would shout them down, much to everyone else's bemusement.

As Harry dismounted from his broomstick and helped George wrestled the Bludgers back into the crate, Alfred flashed a thumbs up at Harry and went back to his pancakes as he walked back to the castle, whistling (if Harry wasn't mistaken) the American anthem.

"I've never seen him around before." said George in a low voice as he helped Harry carry the crate back into the dressing room. "Is he a Muggle?"

"Honestly speaking?" replied Harry, just as softly. "I have no idea. When we broke into Professor Kirkland's room, he came in via the fireplace. The professor did say that he was going to deal with him, but it looks like he's staying here for the time being..."

"Well, I like him." stated George. "He's really cool for a Yankee, anyway. And Malfoy's face was priceless when he shouted him down."

"I know." sniggered Harry as he remembered the stunned look on Malfoy, as if a tree trunk had ran into him _hard_. "I hope he referees all our matches. That'll be hilarious."

Ron was waiting for Harry as he walked up the stairs to the Great Hall. "Well that was a great practice!" he said as they walked back into the castle. "Alfred is a real joker. Who hired him? Umbridge is so going to throw a fit over this."

"Yeah, she can do it together with Fudge and Malfoy." said Harry. "You think he's like Professor Kirkland? Muggle, but knows magic?"

"Well we could always ask him right? He's that sort of guy who'd proudly tell us his whole life story if we asked him nicely." replied Ron as he swung his broom over his shoulder. "I'm starving now. Think we can grab some of those pancakes Alfred had from the kitchen?"

Harry grinned as he thought of the tantrum Hermione would throw if she knew what they were about to do. "Yeah, why not?"

* * *

England was busy preparing the Nifflers for his next class when a shadow fell over him. He just had time to spin around and dodge before America tried to hug him, but tripped over himself instead as England gracefully avoided the lunge.

"The hell was that for, Alfred?" demanded England as he straightened his tie. "I'm busy right now, go disturb somebody else!"

"I saw Harry and Ron down at the Quidditch pitch." crowed America. "You know, the one you said defeated Vol-"

"Keep it down!" hissed England, silencing the American. "I don't want Dolores finding another reason to put me on probation!"

America sighed in exasperation. "Geez man, your people are too sensitive. It's just a name what's wrong with Volde-"

England clapped a hand over America's mouth and was about to wrestle him to the ground when he heard footsteps behind him. Slowly he turned around, hand still over America's mouth only to find Filch the caretaker staring wide-eyed at him.

"Ah, Professor Kirkland..." Filch's words trailed off as he stared at the scene before him.

England blushed furiously and released America, who instantly staggered back and started massaging his mouth. "This isn't what you're thinking it is, Argus. Now, you were saying...?"

Filch cleared his throat as he tried to clear the sudden mental image of Professor Kirkland and the American kissing out of his mind. "Dolores has requested to see you in her office this very moment. Something about the certain employment of a new Quidditch assistant without her consultation...?" His eyes wandered over to America, who was still choking in the background as he tried to flatten his hair.

England groaned softly. He should've expected this. "Tell Dolores I'll be coming up immediately."

Filch sniffed as he acknowledged England. As he walked past America, he merely sneered and continued on his way to Umbridge's office.

America stared after Filch. "The hell was that for?"

"Go to my room, Alfred." said England tiredly. "Wait until I get back. I won't be long."

"But what-?" said America, confused. "What's going on, Arthur? Why-?"

"Please, Alfred." England's tone was firm. "I can handle this on my own. Do as I say,  _now_."

Grumbling under his breathe, America strode away, his hands dug deep into his jeans. England released the breathe he never knew he was holding as soon as America was gone.

He was walking a thin line at Hogwarts. Any moment now, the Ministry could turn on him for declaring he was a Muggle with the ability to see magic and identify the wizarding world. Had it not been for Albus' protection, he would have been brought before the Ministry on the first day of school itself. If he had known better, declaring himself Muggle-born like Alfred would have brought less trouble. But it was too late. Best deal with the outcome from it all than mourn over the past.

Silently, he made his way to Umbridge's office. Students were still in their classrooms, and he could see Filius teaching as usual from his place on the stack of books as he passed the Charms classroom.

Umbridge looked up as soon as England had closed the door to her office. "Ah yes, Professor Kirkland." she said softly as she hastily pushed the documents she had been reading underneath a stack of parchment. England pretended to not notice her, his eyes fixed on the office's design and he couldn't help but retch internally.

Pink was apparently the office's theme, from the tablecloth on Umbridge's desk to the colour of the wallpaper. As he sitted himself down on the chair opposite Umbridge, England couldn't help but notice the lamp was pink as well.

"You must be wondering why I called you here, Arthur." began Umbridge as she leaned forward, closer to his face.

_Yes, I know you want to whine about America,_ thought England as he continued staring blankly at Umbridge.

"You see, once I heard that Albus had recruited a wayward Muggle-born American who'd fallen down from your chimney as the new caretaker of the grounds and Quidditch referee, I thought I'd look him up in the Ministry's records under the foreign wizards and witches division. And I found  _this_. Care to explain, Arthur?". She pushed a battered brown folder at him across the table. Frowning, England picked up the folder and flipped it open.

His eyes widened. A picture of America had been attached to the top of the folder, his face uncharacteristically serious. England instantly recognised when the picture had been taken, just by glancing at the uniform America was wearing.

It had been taken during the second World War.

"Well, Arthur?" demanded Umbridge. "What do you make of this?"

"I don't understand." said England sharply as he quickly glanced through the folder. It was a military record of America during the second World War. Reports from his superiors about his whereabouts, his involvement in the military campaign in Europe. Thankfully, America's now long-dead superiors had used his cover name and treated him as a normal soldier in their reports.

"I am not dumb, Arthur." grinded Umbridge through clenched teeth. "That is a Muggle military report from the second Muggle World War. Kindly explain to me how Alfred ended up on a Muggle military record in a war that happened almost sixty years ago."

"Dolores-" started England but Umbridge interrupted him.

"I have yet to inform Cornelius of this," she said, her eyes glittering darkly. "What do you think he will say once he reads this, I wonder?"

"Dolores," said England as civilly as he could, "You are dealing with matters beyond your depth. Why don't you just let this slide, hm?"

"You are hiding something, Arthur Kirkland. You and the American." Umbridge's tone had turned icy. "And I intend to find out what it is, with or without your help. If you will not aid me, I cannot guarantee your immunity if Cornelius decides to take action against you."

England stood up, his patience at an end. "Good luck to you then, Dolores. But I wouldn't push further into this matter if I were you, no matter how interested you may be." He opened the door, letting sunlight from the corridor stream into the office. "Good day, Professor."

As he exited, England didn't catch the slight smile on Umbridge face as she delicately lifted America's folder, stared at the picture and said softly to herself. "I am sure Lucius will be  _extremely_  interested in this matter too."

* * *

Harry and his friends were in a mixed mood the next morning. On one side, Harry was happy because he had finally had contact with Sirius in the Gryffindor fireplace last night. On the other side, Harry was internally fuming over the poisonous letter Percy had sent to Ron last night.

And today, they were mentally preparing themselves to comb the Daily Prophet in search of, to quote Percy from the letter, some "interesting news" about Professor Umbridge, but just as Hermione was unfolding the newspaper, an unholy screech sounded from outside of the hall. Most of the students currently eating in the hall automatically turned their heads towards the doors and they weren't disappointed. Alfred ran into the hall, his face white as he blabbered at the top of his voice. "IT'S A GHOST OH MY GOD IT'S A GHOST-!", running towards the staff table and towards Professor Kirkland, who was steadily ignoring the younger man's screeching by reading the newspaper, his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

Nearly Headless Nick floated in after Alfred, looking thoroughly offended as Professor McGonagoll attempted to calm down the hysterical American. "I was just merely saying good morning to the young gentleman here, Minerva, not threatening to behead him-"

"I understand." came the curt reply. "Alfred please, for Merlin's sake, stop snivelling. It's not a very pretty sight."

"It's a ghost, it's a ghost-!"

"Alfred." Professor McGonagoll tried again. "Please, Nick will never hurt you-"

"HOW CAN YOU STAY SO CA-?"

" _Alfred._ " This time, the name didn't come from Professor McGonagoll, but from Professor Kirkland as he finally folded up his newspaper and set down his cup of tea, deciding that it was time for him to intervene before Alfred started flipping the staff table in panic. "I understand that you don't really, ehem, like ghosts, but this is getting childish. Now sit down, and eat your bloody breakfast. And you can stop looking at me like that, it doesn't work."

Glaring balefully at the older professor, Alfred sat down reluctantly, only to make a face as he looked at the food provided. "This sucks. Do you guys always eat toast with butter? How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

Alfred's statement was met with blank stares from all the professors except for Arthur. No doubt they were all trying to process why the American wanted jelly on his bread.

"For the last time Alfred, it's not jelly, it's  _jam_." came the biting reply from Arthur as he wiped his mouth and pushed his chair back. "Excuse me, I have a class to attend to. And  _behave_ , Alfred. The Slytherin team will be training on the pitch later, you'll have to be there to ensure the pitch is preserved in one piece by the time they're finished with it."

"I'm not a kid." came the sulky reply. "I know what to do." Another scared glance was shot at Nearly Headless Nick as Alfred inched slowly away from the ghost.

"I'm sure you do." was the sarcastic response as Professor Kirkland gathered up the newspaper and walked down the Hall, ignoring the whispers from the students as they discussed the latest commotion by the newest professor.

As the chatter continued on in in the Great Hall, Harry's attention turned back to Hermione but she wasn't reading the newspaper. She was still staring intently up at the staff table. Looking closer, Harry saw the affair that had caught her attention. Professor Umbridge had sidled into Professor Kirkland's empty chair next to Alfred, and was now speaking to him in a tone too low for Harry to hear. But judging by the way Alfred's face, which was already considerably white from his supernatural encounter earlier, paled even further, she wasn't giving him very good news.

"What do you think she's telling him?" muttered Ron to Harry.

"Maybe she's saying 'I found your baby pictures.'?" said Harry offhandedly.

Hermione gave out a cry of outrage as she finally glanced at the headline and flattened it out for Harry and Ron to see. Plastered onto the front page was a hideous picture of Umbridge grinning as she waved at the reader, the huge words leaping out of the page to Harry's eyes.

"Educational reforms?  _High Inquisitor_?" whispered Ron in horror as he stared at the paper in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means from now on, Umbridge will be inspecting every single professor at Hogwarts and she will have the power to sack them if she isn't satisfied with their performance." seethed Hermione as she read the article.

"Fudge huh?" said Harry dully. "I'm not surprised.

A small grin was forming on Ron as he stared into thin air.

"What's so funny?" snapped Hermione.

"Wait until McGonagoll gets inspected." chortled Ron. "I want to be there when she brings Umbridge back to reality."

Even Harry had to admit privately to himself that he was looking forward to that as well.

"What's our first lesson?" said Ron cheerfully as he helped himself to more cereal.

"Care of Magical Creatures, in twenty minutes, so eat fast Ron." replied Hermione angrily as she shoved the newspaper into her robes. "I don't want to get Professor Kirkland into trouble if Umbridge's inspecting his class."

"Stawp beid sah pushhie Hermyown." said Ron in a garbled voice as he worked his way through his breakfast.

"Boys." muttered Hermione, her mood lightening as she flipped open her Potions textbook to study while she waited patiently for her two friends to be done with their breakfast.

* * *

America pushed around his bread for a good fifteen minutes before deciding that he wasn't hungry. Pushing back his chair, he walked out of the Great Hall, his head pounding dully, an impending sign of a headache.

He still remembered freshly what the vile woman had told him not just twenty minutes ago.

"I know who you are." she had smiled at him as she spoke, leaning close to him and whispering in his ear. "If you will confess to me, I will make the future investigation less stringent. It will help both of us, don't you think so, my dear Alfred?"

"You're lying." America had replied coldly, internally curling into a ball of horror. "You're trying to trick me into giving out details."

"Why, Alfred." Umbridge's eyes had widened innocently. "You haven't even been here a week. Why do you insist on making enemies out of friends? I am merely offering help to you, not issuing a death warning to you."

"Arthur warned me about this." he had replied, no mercy showing in his tone of voice. "Umbridge, I didn't come here to be gossiped about. I came here to help Arthur, and help him I will. I don't want to get embroiled in whatever political nonsense you currently have going on. I've had enough of it back home, and I'm tired of it. So please, don't disturb me any further."

Umbridge's eyes had hardened too. "So you won't cooperate with me, just like Arthur chose not to indulge any information to me. Very well. On your heads,  _so be it._ " The last words were practically a hiss as Umbridge stood up and stalked away from America with her nose high in the air.

America's hands shook as he walked down the corridors, replaying the same conversation over and over in his mind as he methodically analysed it with an almost soldier-like detachment.  _I have made an enemy at Hogwarts. It will be wise for me to be on my guard from today onwards._ He squinted.  _Where's old Arthur anyway? Sulking in his room over the educational reforms?_

Someone bumped into his shoulder hard and America swore as he regained his balance. The culprit was the Malfoy kid who smirked at America as he watched him lazily, like an eagle watching its prey.

"Sorry, Professor. Didn't see you there." drawled Malfoy as he hurried down the corridor with his two other friends. "Won't do it again."

America could only gape with his mouth open at the brazenness of Malfoy as he retreated into another corridor.

_Stupid rich students._

He turned into another corridor, and then suddenly realised that it wasn't a corridor he was familiar with.

"Fu-" he nearly cursed but stopped himself just in time as a group of first years walked past him.

He took a right turn, jumped across a moving staircase and went through two doors pretending to be walls as he desperately tried to make his way into familiar territory. It wasn't until half an hour of hopeless wandering later that America had to conclude that he was now really,  _really_  lost.

America spun around on the spot desperately. "Uh... help?" he tried. "Anybody?"

Nobody answered him. America groaned and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Fine then. Whatever. Have it your way!" He was shouting at the castle's walls now, despite knowing that it would do him little good. "Make me stay lost forever, you hateful little-"

America turned around again, his eyebrows arched. A door had seemingly appeared in the wall next to him. And he was a hundred percent sure that the door hadn't been there before when he had walked past that particular section of the wall. So what was it...?

Curious, America put his hand on the knob, England's earlier warning to him echoing in his head. "For crying out loud Alfred, don't touch anything you don't know and don't go into any rooms randomly. For all you know, there might be more ghosts in them!" But England's warning was the last thing on his mind at the moment as he turned the knob and entered the mystery room.

* * *

Unbeknownst to all the nations, information about them, stored deep in the vaults of the Muggle Ministry at Downing Street in Great Britain, had been raided. The vaults were discovered to have been raided the next morning when the morning guards came in. The night guards were all found, dead, in a cabinet in the photocopy room.

There had been no trace of any weapons used on them. As if they had all just decided to drop dead all of a sudden.

Alarms were raised when the documents were all accounted and checked, and those checking them found certain important documents missing. Even the Prime Minister was called in, his hair in a mess as he had rushed all the way down to his office to handle the situation. Nevertheless, he was utterly dismayed when he found out from the detectives about the certain documents missing. Oh he was going to be in so much trouble when those above him found out which documents in particular had been stolen.

Documents pertaining two men called Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14- Error**

"That was awful," announced Ron to no-one in particular as he and Harry climbed down the ladder after Divinations. Umbridge had been in Professor Trelawney's class, lurking around the corners of the misty room and springing on unsuspecting students with random questions. The stress had nearly reduced Professor Trelawney to tears and she had lost her temper with Umbridge towards the end of the lesson.

Harry had seen the smirk on Umbridge's face as she descended down the ladder, and he almost pitied Professor Trelawney.

With a sigh, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder. There was nothing he could do about it. Umbridge had avoided him throughout the entire Divinations lesson, and he wasn't complaining either. The less he saw of Umbridge, the happier he was.

"Hey," said Hermione as he and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table. "How did it go?"

"Awful," Harry echoed Ron's earlier comments. "As if she was purposely out for Trelawney's blood."

Hermione 'harrumph'd' as she took Professor Kirkland's journal out of her bag, flipping it open to a random page. The trio had been trying to decode the journal, but the more they tried, the more confusing the journal became; like it was trying to prevent them from discovering its secrets.

After they'd finished their lunch, it was time for Defense against the Dark Arts. With an internal groan, Harry dragged himself into Umbridge's classroom, his mood darkening further when he saw the same smirk at Divinations on Umbridge's face.

Time passed painfully slow, but when Hermione started arguing with Umbridge regarding  _Defensive Magical Theory_  by Wilbert Slinkhard, Harry sat up straighter. His temper rose when he heard Umbridge putting down Hermione's arguments and, without thinking, without even considering the impact of what he was saying, he made a snarky remark about Quirrell to Umbridge.

The whole class gaped at him.

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh.

And that was how Harry ended up with another week worth of detentions.

* * *

England was dozing in front of the fireplace of his private chambers when Scotland decided to interrupt him via Floo powder. Again.

With a yelp, England pushed himself back in surprise as the fireplace flared green abruptly, the book in his lap flying into a corner of the room.

Scotland's head floated in the fireplace, but there was something wrong with it. There was no mirth on it, no trace of a smile nor of laughter.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

England recomposed himself as he knelt down in front of the fireplace, his eyebrows knitted together. "I assume this isn't a social call," he remarked bluntly.

"No," snapped Scotland. England's eyes slanted. "All right, sorry, that was rude. I'm just feeling really mad at the moment. Did yer know there was a bloody break in at Downing Street yesterday?"

"What?!"

"Yeah, yer Prime Minister contacted me because he couldn't get a hand on ya," said Scotland. "Anyhows, the intruder only took certain documents stored down in the old vaults. And oh yeah, they killed a couple of guards on the way. The morning shift discovered them in the broom closet." He wrinkled his nose. "Not a very pleasant sight."

England's heart stopped momentarily. "The old vaults? But that's where-"

"-information regarding the nations are stored?" finished Scotland. "Apparently so, because guess whose file was missing, bro?" He paused. "Yours, and the Yankee."

England sat down heavily on the floor, his head spinning. Maybe now was a suitable time to break out a bottle of wine from the kitchen. "Any magical traces?"

Scotland shook his head."Other than the Killing Curse on the guards, nothing. Maybe they mind controlled somebody to snatch the documents." He narrowed his eyes. "Is the Yank with ya?"

"He's down at the Quidditch pitch," muttered England, his head in his hands. Oh why did this have to happen, on top of everything else going on? He was going to get rapped by the other nations when they found out that somebody had broken into the vaults and had nearly exposed all their information. "Do the other nations know about this?"

"No," replied Scotland, "but an emergency meeting has been called, and I'm flying to Berlin in about an hour to attend it." He sighed, his expression turning serious again. "Look bro, I don't know what's going on, but yer have to handle the fallout over at your side now. I'm already doing all I can to contain this incident and Ireland is in charge of tracking down the documents, but the ball's in your court now. Somebody, and I mean _somebody_ , from  _that_ side you're currently on has a real serious grudge against yer. I can't do much to track down the bloody culprit if I don't have any clue what I'm dealing with, get it?"

"It's Voldemort," said England without missing a heartbeat. "Definitely him."

Scotland's face paled at the mention of the name, but he didn't flinch. "And you're so sure that it's him because...?"

"Well, there's no other suspect, is there?" answered England, glancing at the door and praying that America wouldn't barge into the room without warning. "Other than the Ministry of Magic, that is..."

Scotland choked. "Yer own Ministry? What the heck?"

"They seem to think I'm some weird Muggle man with magical abilities, so yes; they might've been trying to dig up information about me."

Scotland was silent for a minute, probably contemplating the many ways he could strangle his younger brother, even though he was just a projection in the fireplace. "Yer know, yer could just tell them about yourself. I don't need an extra enemy to deal with because of your stupidity."

"Maybe later," England waved it off. "For now, I have to get back Alfred's military records from that bi- I mean, Umbridge before she hands it in to Fudge. Or, heaven help me, Malfoy."

"Did yer tell the Yank that she has his records?" asked Scotland, his eyes sharp. "And how did she-?"

"Alfred has old records of himself in the Ministry of Magic's foreign wizards archive dating back from the Second World War. And don't ask me how they ended up there because I don't even want to know." England massaged his temples. He really needed that bottle of whiskey, nevermind that it was only one in the afternoon.

"Well, it's only a matter of-" Scotland suddenly cut off, turning his head around in the fireplace. To England, it was as if he was looking at the brick wall of the fireplace. "What the f-"

"Scot?" England knelt down even further. "What-?"

"Someone's trying to cut off the connection, but that's impossi-" Scotland's head abruptly vanished, leaving behind green flames that flickered irregularly. Another voice replaced Scotland's, a  _very_  familiar voice. One that went with the image of a fat, toady woman dressed entirely in pink.

England rocketed backwards as the hand of Umbridge appeared in the fireplace, groping around the exact same spot that Scotland's head had been a few seconds ago.

He had no choice but to make a dash for it, heading towards the kitchen; nevermind that he collided into Professor Flitwick along the way. As he muttered his apologies, England's only thought was on that bottle of whiskey waiting for him in the kitchen.

And hoping against hope that he wouldn't get called in for illegal communications through a fireplace.

* * *

England sat down sullenly on the chair in Umbridge's office, the second time that week. It was two times more than he wanted, thank you very much.

"So, Arthur," said Umbridge sweetly as she leaned forwards over the desk, her hands clasped together. "I received information that you communicated with an unknown person over the Floo Network. You do know that under the new Educational Decree, you are required to log all communications you've had with outsiders into the system, right?"

"Really?" England tried to look unimpressed. "I did not know of this rule. When was it implemented?"

"Oh, right before lunch," answered Umbridge, a smirk on her face.

England sighed. "Fine, I  _will_  log in the next time I speak with somebody. Can I go now? I do have a lesson to prepare."

Umbridge's smile widened. "I'm not done with you yet, Arthur. Who was it you were communicating with?"

"That is none of your business, Dolores," snapped England. "I have a right to keep private conversations private. You do realise that they are called private for a reason...?" His fatigue and stress was making him snarky, but England couldn't care less about it at the moment.

"I am only going to ask you one more time." Umbridge's tone turned dangerously soft, venom dripping from each word. " _Who was it you were talking with?_ "

England rolled his eyes.  _Sorry, Scotland._ "Fine. I was speaking with my older brother, Scot. I'm sure you have that information on my record, don't you?"

"Really?" Umbridge's tone was disbelieving. "Are you sure you weren't communicating with certain unsavoury people? Hm... maybe, members of the Order of the Phoenix, for instance?"

England threw his chair back. He wasn't going to answer that particular question. He had told her the truth; if she didn't believe him, too bad for her. "You must excuse me. I do have better things to do than answering far-fetched questions that are apparently aimed at exposing me as an agent of Dumbledore's organisation."

England slammed the door behind him as he exited, taking great satisfaction at the stunned expression on Umbridge's face.

* * *

America looked around. He had been hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter during the Quidditch tryouts for Gryffindor, but despite the large crowd that had gathered to watch the tryouts, the boy wasn't around.

"Excuse me," America stopped one of the red-headed Weasley twins (he had no idea which one it was though). "Have you seen Harry around?"

The twin stared at him. "Haven't you heard, professor?" He jerked his head towards one of the many windows of the castle. "Harry's in detention with Professor Umbridge. Something about telling lies. She wouldn't let him off the hook for it."

There was a sour taste in Alfred's mouth.  _That bitch again._ "Thanks, pal." He clapped the twin on his back. "See you around."

"Got it, professor." The Weasley twin tramped off, leaving Alfred standing alone on the side of the pitch.

_Gee, refereeing this is way harder than I thought it was,_ Alfred reflected as he watched the tryouts begin.  _I wonder what England is up to now...?_

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Transfigurations the next morning, three identical grins plastered on their faces.

"I wish I had a camera when McGonagoll offered her a cough-drop," chortled Ron, blissfully happy. "That expression on her face...!"

Harry smiled, but it quickly vanished as soon as it had come. "It's Care of Magical Creatures now," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Sure enough, Umbridge was already lurking around Hagrid's hut when the trio arrived, looking rather furious as she scribbled something on her clipboard. Professor Kirkland, to his credit, was steadily ignoring her as if she was merely part of the scenery.

They were studying Bowtruckles today. Interesting little creatures that lived in trees whose wood was used for wands. Harry noted the frown on Umbridge's face as Professor Kirkland generously awarded twenty points to Hermione for the third time; she had been the only one in class able to answer his questions regarding Bowtruckles.

As soon as Professor Kirkland had separated them into groups of three to study and draw a diagram of a Bowtruckle ("No, Mr. Malfoy, I can assure you that they won't bite unless you aggravate them. Now stop being such a coward and take the Bowtruckle."), Umbridge was on the prowl, pouncing on unsuspecting students and firing questions at them. Unfortunately, she had made a beeline for Malfoy, who was still very unhappy from the way he had been reprimanded by Professor Kirkland.

"Now, Draco," Umbridge smirked as her quill poised above her clipboard, ready to write down any remarks or comments. "I heard from your father that you were injured quite recently in Professor Kirkland's lesson...?"

"Oh yeah," said Malfoy eagerly as he showed Umbridge the wound which was still healing on his hand. "A Flying Mint Bunny bit me on the hand-"

"Only because you were too dumb to listen to the Professor," snapped Harry irritably a few metres away.

Umbridge turned and looked at Harry with that sickeningly sweet expression on her face which told him that he had overstepped a line.

"I think another week's worth of detention will do you some good, Mr. Potter." she said softly as she snapped her clipboard shut, Malfoy smirking behind her.

"What?" said Professor Kirkland sharply as he straightened up after helping Parvati with her Bowtruckle. "What has Potter done now to deserve another week of detention?"

"It's okay, Professor-" said Harry softly, but Professor Kirkland was having none of it.

"Harry, get back to your Bowtruckle. Professor Umbridge and I are going to have a talk, _right now_."

As the pair moved further away from the class and closer to the Forbidden Forest, Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Ron, who merely shrugged in response.

* * *

"Why do you keep insisting on giving the boy detention?" whispered England furiously once they were out of earshot. "He has done nothing to warrant the punishment-"

"What punishment I deal out to Potter is none of your business right now, Arthur." said Umbridge sweetly. "Now, as part of your evaluation, I will require you to answer some questions..."

England nearly threw his hands up in exasperation.

* * *

Harry trudged glumly along the corridors as he returned from yet another session of detention with Umbridge. His hand was bleeding again and he didn't bother to hide it, not this late at night with nobody out in the corridors.

"And you didn't bother telling me this earlier?" A sharp voice punctuated Harry's thoughts. He halted in the middle of the corridor as the voices floated down the corridor around the nearest corner. "Arthur, you have no idea how serious this is getting-"

"Will you please calm down, Alfred?" another voice which Harry recognised as Professor Kirkland answered tiredly. "Scott is flying over to Berlin for an emergency meeting now, I'm sure it'll be settled in a few days..."

"No, it won't!" Alfred's voice became louder and angrier. "You should've told me this earlier in the morning, then I could've-"

"Could have  _what_ , Alfred?" Professor Kirkland replied as Harry slowly made his way closer to them, trying to be as quiet as possible. "This is out of my hands already. You know the reason I even took up the job in the first place, Alfred, so don't lecture me on the merits now." A few seconds of silence before a sigh came. "Potter, you do know that eavesdropping is frowned upon in most societies, right?"

"Sorry, Professor," stammered Harry as he rounded the corner. Professor Kirkland and Alfred were standing in the middle of the dimmed corridor, their expressions tense. "I was on my way to Gryffindor tower, I just had detention with Professor Umbridge."

Alfred glanced at Harry, his eyes travelling downwards and widening when they saw Harry's bleeding hand. "Harry, your hand-"

"It's nothing-" said Harry quickly as he hid his hand, but Alfred was quicker, reaching Harry in two strides and cradling his injured appendage. The American's eyes narrowed and he swore when he read the words etched into Harry's hand.

"Does she make you do this every time you go for detention?" The anger was evident in Alfred's voice now as Professor Kirkland came over to where Harry was, his expression turning blank when he saw the words on Harry's hands.

"Yeah," said Harry as he yanked his hand back. "Because I told her about Voldemort, the truth about him." He glared at the two older men, daring them to correct him.

Professor Kirkland's eyes softened. "We believe you, Harry," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder as if making sure no one else could hear him.

Alfred was still riled up. "I'm gonna go and kick Dolores in the butt right now, she has no right to-"

Professor Kirkland grabbed Alfred firmly by the shoulder and steered him in front of himself to prevent Alfred from stomping up to Umbridge's quarters and murder her. "Better get back to the tower, Harry." said Professor Kirkland as he strained to maintain his grip on Alfred. "Oh, and by the way, you should tell Miss Granger about your hand. She might be able to do something about it." With much effort, Professor Kirkland pushed Alfred and they were both on their way, their silhouettes rapidly disappearing into the night.

Hermione was waiting for Harry when he got back, a bowl in her lap. Surprised, Harry sat down as she pushed the bowl towards him.

"Essence of Murtlap," she explained, looking shrewdly at Harry. "It should help with the hand."

Harry stared. "Did Ron-"

"Yeah, and I think you're a total idiot for not telling us about it," replied Hermione. "Now just soak your hand in it. I have something to discuss with you."

Warily, Harry soaked his hand in the liquid. To his surprise, the pain in his hand was instantly numbed, the throbbing lessening gradually.

"I'm sure you know about this, but Professor Umbridge is a lousy teacher." said Hermione bluntly.

"Tell me something I don't know," muttered Harry.

"And, on top of it all, this is the year we sit for our OWLs!" Hermione said heatedly. "So Ron and I were talking about it earlier, and we both agreed that we were never going to pass the practical for Defence Against the Dark Arts at the rate she's going-"

"So?" said Harry.

"So we were thinking-" Hermione took a deep breath. "About you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Me? What do I have to do with this?"

"Well, technically speaking, you are the best out of all of us in this subject," said Hermione a little timidly.

Harry laughed. "I thought  _you_  were the best, Hermione. You always beat me in the tests, remember?"

"Not really," said Hermione. "In our third year, the only year where we got a proper teacher and a proper test, Professor Lupin told me in private that you'd beat me in the subject. So you are better than me."

"What difference does it make anyway?" sighed Harry. "Umbridge is determined to mark me down no matter what I do-"

"So we were thinking, maybe..." Hermione's voice trailed off. "Maybe we could start a small study group, with you as the leader."

Harry went silent as he stared at Hermione before laughing. "No, no, Hermione." He paused. "You're serious?"

"At least give it a thought or two, please," pleaded Hermione. "You could give private lessons to say, half a dozen of us? It'll help us for our exams, and I do know a few people who are interested."

Harry's head was spinning. "No, I don't think so, Hermione." It wasn't that he didn't want to do it, it was just- "And what'll Umbridge think of me suddenly teaching all her students, huh?"

"Well, last I checked, a study group or club wasn't against the rules." Hermione stated firmly. "So it's not like we're doing something illegal."

Harry stood up, clutching his hand to his chest. "I think it's time I went to bed."

"Just think about it, will you?" said Hermione as Harry retreated up to the boys' dormitory. "You don't need to make a decision now, you can always tell me tomorrow or next week-"

"'Night, 'Mione," muttered Harry as he rushed up the staircase, unable to look at Hermione's half-hopeful, half-disappointed face.

He'd consider it later when he was feeling much better. For now, all he wanted was to lay down on his fluffy bed and sleep, preferably forever.

* * *

It was almost three in the morning when England woke up to something that always irritated him to no end.

The sound of a mobile phone ringing.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he bolted upright, a sudden thought entering his head.

He was in Hogwarts.

Mobiles didn't work in Hogwarts.

America was sleeping in the temporary bed hastily placed next to his, his snores echoing off the walls of the room. Despite Dumbledore offering him a room and the fact that there were a million other spare rooms in the castle, America had insisted on sleeping in  _his_  room.

England wasn't going to admit that it made him feel a little smug that America still insisted on sleeping in the same room with him, just like he always did when he was younger.

"Wake up, America. Your mobile's ringing." No response. "America,  _wake up_." Still no response.

England groaned. "Fine, you made me do this." With one mighty yank, he pulled the blanket off America, leaving the younger nation laying in the cold with only his trousers on.

America woke up instantly and yelped as the sudden cold hit him. "England! What the fu-"

"Your mobile is ringing, wanker. Answer it so that I can go back to my much needed sleep without that bloody thing waking me up." England grumbled, the feeling of uneasiness gnawing away inside of him as he threw the blanket back onto America, eliciting a growl of protest from the younger man.

With an evil glare at England, America grabbed his ringing mobile and pressed it to his ear. "Yeah, Alfred here," he drawled as he leaned back lazily against the pillow, wiggling his eyebrows at England staring worriedly at him.

_Does he not know that mobiles don't work in Hogwarts? What is going on?_

"What?" the sudden sharp tone of America made England sit up even straighter, his uneasiness even more prominent now. "Who's this?" A pause. "No, whoever this is, this isn't funny. Alright jackass, I have nothing more to discuss with you and no amount of bargaining will do you any good-" Another pause. "No, nothing's gonna change my mind, so stop-" The younger nation's expression abruptly changed from serious to terrified in the span of a second, his hand quivering as he pressed the mobile even harder against his ear.

_"Matthew?_ "


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15- Canadian Action Pie**

He blinked as the light from the small gap of a door hit his face. He hadn't seen light in a few days ever since he had been taken by them, and he was surprised. What did they want with him now?

A rough hand grabbed his long hair and pulled him upright roughly, his chin facing the ceiling uncomfortably. "Look sharp, boy," an equally just as rough voice sneered at him. "The Dark Lord himself is coming down to see you, and he wouldn't be happy to see you looking all droopy and glum."

Matthew told the man just where exactly the Dark Lord could stick his suggestions into, and he wasn't surprised when the man pulled even harder at his hair, knocking his glasses askew in the process.

"I wouldn't be so rude if I were you, Yankee," the man said after Matthew had recovered, panting heavily as he stared hatefully into the dark eyes of the man who had an iron grip on his hair. "He doesn't tolerate rudeness."

"And how many times must I tell you," Matthew hissed through the blood in his mouth, spitting flecks of it onto his own shirt. "That I am  _not_  a Yankee?"

"Wormtail," a lazy voice drawled from the doorway. Chills spread up Matthew's spine as he squinted at the shadow, his eyes not used to the bright light. "Are you mistreating our guest again?"

The man released his hair, hands in the air as he slinked back to his master, another nasty sneer on his face. "I apologise, my lord. He was being very... uncooperative."

The dark shadow didn't seemed to believe a word of it. "Really?" He flourished his black robe. "Leave us, Wormtail. I will call for you when I require your... services again."

"Yes, my lord. Anytime, my lord. Thank you," Wormtail grovelled as he walked backwards out of the door, nearly colliding with the wooden frame of the door on his way out.

As soon as Wormtail was gone, Matthew heard a rustle as the shadow took a step closer to him. He could feel rather than see the shadow's reptilian eyes on him as the Dark Lord prowled cautiously around the chair Matthew had been tied into, dozens of unknown powerful spells surrounding him and preventing him from making his great escape.

"You know," Matthew offered, trying his best to break the icy silence. "If this is how you treat your guests, I wouldn't want to be your prisoner anytime soon in the future."

The Dark Lord didn't seem amused. "Very funny," he hissed as he finally stopped his pacing, coming to a stop in front of Matthew. "You have been evading questions for days now. I think it's time you give me some answers before I am forced to take some drastic action against you,  _Matthew._ " His name was spat out forcefully, as if the Dark Lord was having a difficult time pronouncing it.

"And I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy," Matthew stoically replied. "I only came to Britain to look for my older brother and drag his stupid ass back to America, not involve myself in some cult of black wizards who think they're superior over the normal humans. So if you could kindly release me, I would be on my merry way..."

Matthew didn't had time to finish his sentence before the shadow lifted a pale hand, a wand pointed straight at his face. Before Matthew could even breathe or squeak out a word of protest, the shadow mouthed the dreaded words.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The green light hit Matthew square in between his eyes and he slumped forward, the numbing pain spreading to his entire body, the black bliss of unconsciousness hitting him even as his hands fell limp beside him; his cell was still clutched tightly in his left hand where he had been secretly trying to speed dial his brother before the curse had hit him.

* * *

Voldemort stared coldly at the body before him as he tucked his wand back into his robes. This was the first time he had tried the Killing Curse on this mysterious individual before him. He had tried variations of the Torture Curse before and even though the boy had screamed himself hoarse at the pain, he had still proved to be unbreakable, refusing to answer the questions directed at him.

So he had employed the Killing Curse.

If Lucius Malfoy was to be believed, the boy wasn't dead, merely stunned by the sheer pain of the Killing Curse.

Interesting, the Dark Lord mused. A creature who looked like a human with the power of immortality coursing through him. Just exactly what sort of secrets did he hold that the Dark Lord didn't had never heard of that allowed him to taste the sweet success of immortality?

He was desperate now. He needed answers, and fast, before any of these immortal humans got a whiff of what had happened to one of their comrades and went on the warpath.

Cautiously, he stepped past the binding spells surrounding the young man. Delicately, he picked up the metal contraption that the boy had been clutching onto tightly before he had been hit with the Killing Curse. A Muggle invention, he sneered as he turned it over and over again, pale fingers twitching over the small metal buttons embedded into the surface. Muggles were indeed resourceful, thinking up of strange little inventions to compensate for their lack of magic.

So he wasn't surprised when a voice squeaked out from the little holes in the metal device, speaking the same words over and over again. "Alfred here. Matthew? Is that you? Matt? Matthew?"

So he was supposed to speak into the little holes to enable the other person on the other side to hear and communicate with him. Very interesting.

"Matthew is unavailable at the moment." The Dark Lord spoke slowly, making sure that the other person could hear him very clearly. "Am I speaking with his brother here?"

A pause. "What? Who's that?"

Muggles certainly were dense. Voldemort continued speaking, ignoring the questions. "I have your brother in my hands. If you wish to see him again, you will listen to what I have to say, and not speak a single word while I am talking to you."

The brother was persistently ignoring him too. "Alright jackass, I have nothing to discuss with you, where the hell is Matthew? How did you get his cell?"

Voldemort lost his patience. "I will only say this once." he hissed into the metal device. "I have your brother with me, and if you do not listen to me, he will receive another Killing Curse to his head." He shoved the metal _thing_  under Matthew's chin. The young man had started to stir, his eyelids fluttering open slowly even as he choked out more blood that dribbled down his chin onto his shirt.

"Say hello to your brother, Matthew." The Dark Lord said softly. "He's  _dying_  to talk with you."

* * *

Harry looked at the crowd in dismay. A couple of students? A  _couple_? Really? Inwardly, he cursed himself for believing Hermione.

As the meeting went on and on, and finally ending when all the students had signed the document, Harry pulled Hermione asides to address a very pressing issue.

"And just exactly where are we going to house everybody?" whispered Harry furiously. "A classroom is never going to be big enough for this bloody huge crowd!"

* * *

America stared right past the window, the Quidditch pitch gleaming green in the distance as he twiddled his thumbs absent mindedly.

"Al, whatever's the matter with you?" England gently whacked a book onto America's head. It didn't work, as America continued staring blankly ahead, his usually animated eyes dull and glassy. When no reply came, England sighed and pulled up a chair next to America, folding his hands over the book as he took a deep breathe. "Look Al, I know you're upset, but we can't do anything to help Matt at the moment. We've told Dumbledore about it already and he's doing his best to help us. All we have to do is pray for Matt's safe return, and hope that Dumbledore manages to skewer Voldem-"

"Don't even mention his name to me." growled America but England continued.

"-ort in the process." finished the Englishman as he stared sternly at the younger American. "We can't afford to lose our heads over this now, it is even more crucial that we concentrate and aid Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix on their search-"

America stood up, cold fury such as England had never seen before radiating so strongly from him that England hastily pushed his chair a feet back.

"This is Matthew we're talking about here, Arthur," America gritted his teeth together, willing himself not to shout. "And you, you're acting as if you don't even care-"

England stood up too, slamming the book onto a nearby table. "Now look here, Alfred F. Jones-"

"He's my own damn brother, I should be the one looking for him!" roared America, unable to control himself anymore, despair fueling his fury. "Not sitting here like a useless piece of crap, unable to do anything but wait like I'm going to receive his dead cold body anytime soon-"

England looked stunned. "Who said he was dead?"

"Well, at the rate your precious Order of the Phoenix is going, he's gonna be dead soon!" spat America, purposefully ignoring the pained look on England's face. "And all you do is prattle around going Dumbledore here, Dumbledore there-"

"Enough." England's cold voice was enough to stop America's ramblings, pausing him mid-sentence."I trust Albus Dumbledore, and you will do the same,  _America_."

With an angry sneer, America grabbed his scarf on the table as he stomped out of the library and away from England, brushing brusquely past Harry and Ron without so much as an apology before Madame Pinch could have a go at him for inappropriate noise levels in the library.

Harry looked at Ron, then to Professor Kirkland staring dejectedly after Alfred, his eyes unusually sad and hurt.

"What just happened?" Ron whispered a little too loudly into Harry's ears.

Harry thought about it for a while before answering.

"Domestic issues?"

* * *

England heard rather than saw America enter his room. For a few seconds, no one spoke; the tension in the room was building up into an equally just as frigid coldness.

America shuffled his feet, the first sign of uneasiness that England had always come to associate with him. With a sigh, England bookmarked the book he had been reading; placing it on the small wooden table next to him before turning around to face his wayward charge, his finger locked into a tight fist.

"Look." America spoke first. "What I said this afternoon, England-" He took a deep breathe. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have shouted at you; I was just so pissed out of my head and fuck, I wasn't even thinking before I opened my damn mouth and-" He faltered for a moment before looking the still silent British man sitting before him. "I'm sorry." His eyes stared beseechingly at England, strangely resembling a lost puppy who had been left out in the rain by its owner.

England stood up and with a kind but firm hold on America's shoulder, led him to sit on his temporary bed by the window. Another few minutes ticked by with the tension that had been present since the morning dissipating into thin air as if it had never been there before, America leaning his head onto England's shoulder gently and since the morning, a shadow of a smile tugging at the England's stern mouth.

"We're going to get Canada back, America." England whispered as he stroked the American's head tenderly. He knew how America was struggling, tying to cope with something he deemed was his own fault. "And then we're going to hunt down that bastard and make him pay for everything he's done, ok?"

America sounded a little muffled as he spoke through fabric. "Nah, you're not doing the hunting down, old man. You couldn't even run across the entire United Nations building without stopping at the water cooler about a couple dozen times." That earned him a smack on the head and England sliding out from underneath him, causing America to fall on the bed sideways rather painfully with a groan. "Hey!"

"Hey yourself, you prick." said England with a smile as he threw a folder at America. With a wave, America caught it. "That's our new orders from our dear Ministry Inquisitor. Read it up before she picks on you during inspection."

America's brow creased as he skimmed through the file, absorbing words and pictures fast. "Why do I even need an inspection? I'm just the assistant Quidditch referee; I'm not even a teacher-"Their earlier argument had all been forgotten as America continued ranting on incessantly about the necessity of an inspection.

England threw on his coat as he picked up papers and reading materials around the room; ever since America had decided to crash in his room, the entire place had turned into something akin to a Hipporgriff's nest. With a resigned and irritated exhalation of breath, England picked up a folder before heading for the door. America was still sitting cross-legged on his small bed, eyes narrowed as he wrestled internally with the contents of the folder. "Hey, I'm heading out for a lesson. Try not to turn the room into a disaster zone while I'm gone, please."

The angry squawk that came from the younger nation as England closed the door behind him told England everything he needed to know.

* * *

"Please repeat what you just said to me, Mr. Potter."

Harry took another deep breathe. "We- that is, Hermione and I- we need a teacher to supervise and organise us for this, er-"

"Yes, I got that the first time around; a Defense Against the Dark Arts club, was it?" The professor looked faintly amused as he brushed dirt casually off his vest. "This isn't by any chance a subtle way of rebelling against Professor Umbridge's methods of teaching, is it?" The focused gaze the professor was leveling his way made Harry squirm on the spot.

"No professor, it's just for our own good; I mean, this year is our most important year especially for us students in the fifth year who are sitting for the OWLs and Professor Umbridge has done nothing but teach us theory." Harry was rushing now but he didn't care, he needed to clarify it. "I don't think it's going to help us much when it comes to the practical part of the examination, which is why Hermione proposed to me to set up the club and to help others in their studies as well."

Professor Kirkland looked thoughtful for a moment as he stroked his chin. "And you require a teacher to set up the club, right?"

Harry's heart was beating painfully as he nodded. "Yeah, sort of. More like we need the official recognition and authorisation of a teacher, actually."

He had expected an extremely concise and scanting lecture from the professor; so it came as a huge surprise for Harry when a hand landed on his shoulder and he turned and saw the professor smiling warmly at him. "Alright then, when do you want to start?"

Gaping, Harry tried to thank the professor who'd promptly waved him off with a gentle reprimand to get to his next lesson before he was shot by the other professors. With a profound handshake, Harry made his way into the Great Hall where Hermione and Ron were waiting for him.

Before either of them could speak, Harry nodded. "Yeah, he agreed," he said triumphantly. With a squeal, Hermione hugged him and even Ron cracked a grin, giving him a slap on the back as they made their way to their next lesson.

* * *

It had been three days since the call.

Three extremely long and painfully excruciating days.

But it was also three days later that Matthew Williams, resident ghost of the nations' meeting and the shyest of them all, managed to give the feared Dark Lord of all the slip; by escaping through an unlocked window, of all things. If any other nation had heard of the tale later, they would've laughed themselves to tears.

But for now, back to the present; escape and a constant stream of thoughts along the line of 'I'm going to die, I'm going to die' I'm going to die' was the only thing on Canada's mind as he pried the window open by a crack; peering out through the notoriously tiny gap to survey the outside world. He was in London, the roar of cars and the chattering of her citizens floating through the window. He was also in an underground cellar (somehow he wasn't surprised) and the only means of escape at that moment was through the window.

Slowly, groaning as he did so, Canada forced the window open. Somehow, Wormtail had not thought it necessary to put a warding charm on the window; most probably deeming it too small to be of importance. But Canada was not stupid. The instant he got himself out through the window, the alarm was going to go off; alerting maybe a dozen Death Eaters to his escape. But right now, that wasn't the issue. As he wobbled unsteadily on the wooden, rickety chair he had been previously tied to before he had sneakily managed to cut the ropes open with a small knife, his head was pounding with the loss of blood after Wormtail had brought in a few of his friends to have fun with him about two hours ago.

If he ever got out of here, Canada thought grimly, he was never going to let Wormtail forget about it.

With a pop, the window finally opened far enough for him to wriggle through. Tucking the knife back into his right shoe, Canada heaved himself up; grabbing tightly onto the sill of the tiny cellar window as he pulled himself up through the window, a stray shard of glass cutting his cheek as he did so. After a few grunts and a few choice words uttered irritably, Canada had managed to pull three quarters of his body through the window, his legs still dangling somewhere down there in the musty cellar.

The alarm went off, startling Canada and nearly making him lose his grip on the sill. Hastily, he pulled himself completely through the window just as he caught a glimpse of Wormtail bursting through the door of the underground cellar, eyes widening comically as he saw the legs of his former prisoner disappeared through the tiny, unused cellar window.

With a gasp, Canada pulled himself off the ground, ignoring the surprised stares by the pedestrians as he broke into a run, trying to find his balance and eyes adjusting to the glare of the sunlight after being so long in an underground room with no sunlight. Behind him, he could hear the thunder of footsteps as the Death Eaters poured out of the house. Canada ran even faster, dashing across a main road even when the light was green and earning himself the irritated honks of the drivers having to swerve their vehicles to avoid him.

" _Stupefy_!" Canada heard a Death Eater yell behind him. He ducked, the red light firing over his head and hitting a nearby signpost, causing it to explode into flames. Passer-bys screamed in horror and shock, but he still kept running. He needed to get into a government building, and contact America or England as fast as possible before more innocent victims were hurt.

Then he did something that most people would usually associate with his brother. He scrambled up onto a stone platform that was everywhere to be seen in Britain and waved his hand at the Death Eaters. Anything to prevent the Death Eaters from shooting at random pedestrians.

Sure enough, they saw him. As he hopped off the platform and ducked into an underground train station nearby, he huffed in relief. Surely none of those Death Eaters would be stupid enough to simply aim their spells at him in here.

He was wrong. The spells bouncing off the walls intended for him increased in both number and intensity and the Muggle passengers screamed, the sounds echoing off the walls of the station. Canada ran, legs working frantically as he vaulted over the ticket barrier, ignoring the shouts of the guards as he hurried even further down to the trains. As he reached his destination, the train was just pulling away. With a shout and a great jump, Canada latched onto the back of the train, causing the woman sited at the back of the train to gasp in surprise.

And not a moment too soon either. As the train exited and Canada let himself into the back carriage after streams of apologies to the woman for frightening her (he swore he heard her mutter 'bloody tourists' under hre breathe) he could see the Death Eaters pulling up short at the train platform, enraged expressions on their face as their query escaped in style.

Canada 1 Death Eaters 0

* * *

"She banned Quidditch!" came the heated reply from America when England asked him the cause of his foul mood that morning.

England frowned. "But that only affects the students-"

"And the referee is out of a job!" America threw his hands into the air dramatically, growling as he did so. "'I'm sorry Mr. Jones but seeing as there is no more Quidditch in Hogwarts, maybe it's time to resign your commission and get your ass back to your own country!'"

England sat down on the chair opposite of America. The library had always been their favourite part for private conversations. Most students had wisely learned to avoid them when England and America were talking. "I'm sure she didn't say that."

"Yeah, but she damn well implied it when I spoke to her just now." America put his head in his hands. "Shit, what am I going to do now?"

England cleared his throat. "Well, she did give permission to the Slytherin team to continue playing, so you could referee them when they play against nobody. seeing as how every other house's teams are still banned." If looks could kill, the glare America sent him would've had him flat on the ground in a second. "Look, I'm sure the other teams would eventually get permission from her to play," England's lip twitched. "Can you imagine Umbridge telling McGonagall that the Gryffindor team would be unable to compete? I don't think I would want to stay around for that particular show."

"Screw you," bitched America as he pulled a face at England. "I'm all out of a job and you're here cracking jokes at my expense. Not cool, dude."

England rolled his eyes. "Look, it's not going to be as bad as you say it is. Umbridge will let all of them play, eventually." Humming to himself, he caught the flash of a black robe and messy hair whipping around the corner of a bookshelf. With a frown, England leaned forward. "I wonder how Potter is going to cope. With all clubs and organisations disbanded and considering the nature of his club, Harry's club sure isn't going to get authorisation anytime soon."

That got America's attention fast. "Harry's starting some sort of illegal club?" He grinned. "Count me in."

England scowled. "This isn't funny, America. If the boy gets busted or something, he's either going to get punished severely or even worse, expelled. He's disobeying an order straight from the mouth of the Minister of Magic himself, and I don't think even Dumbledore will be able to dig him out of the mess this time."

"I like how you straight up assume that Harry is starting an illegal organisation," America's grin widened. "Hell, even I knew it and this is the first time I've heard of it from you."

England sighed, "Does Mr. Potter even does things legally now?"

* * *

Canada groaned as he shifted in the hard, plastic chair. It was highly uncomfortable, as he believe it had been designed to be. He had been instructed to wait there while the receptionist chewed on her gum and popped it, the noise irritating him to no end.

"So when can I go in?" Canada called out to the receptionist for what felt like the millionth time in a few minutes, his hands twitching in anticipation.

The receptionist gave Canada a bored look; she had stared critically at his tousled blonde hair, the blood splattered on his glasses and the generally homelessness aura that Canada had exuded when he had first trudged into the office, tracking mud along with him. "Look, sir. The minister sees people according to appointments, and since you didn't made an appointment you're just going to have to wait." The ominous 'if you ask me this question one more time I will impale you with my long fingernails' hung in the air and Canada huffed, slumping into the awful plastic chair as he did so.

The door behind Canada opened, a rush of fresh wind rushing into the room as it did and Canada didn't bother to look at the newcomer, his mood darkening even further.

"Hey there, Abbie, lookin' great there," drawled a familiar voice as the man walked past Canada without so much as blinking at him. "Any letters for me there?"

"No Mr Scott sir, but there was one from your sister here-" As the receptionist searched around her desk for the letter, Canada stood up. His dark mood disappeared instantly.

"Scott!" Canada all but ran over to the Scotsman and would've hugged him had he not been scared of staining the elder nation with blood and dirt. "Hey, Scott!"

Scotland turned around from the receptionist desk and looked blankly at Canada. "Alfred?"

Canada groaned. "I'm Matthew."

An awkward silence stretched for a while before Scotland suddenly grinned, enveloping the surprised Canadian in a bear hug before setting him down again. "Matthew!" He wrinkled his nose. "What the hell happened to you? You looked like you dragged yourself through four kilometres of underground sewage before deciding to shoot yourself. Multiple times."

Canada's eyebrows arched. "Arthur didn't tell you?"

Scotland shook his head. "My piss poor excuse of a brother never tells me anything." Canada heard the edge of irritation in his voice and couldn't help but chuckle.

"I escaped from Voldemort." The answer seemed to knock all the air out of Scotland for he gaped at Canada like a dying fish for a little longer than was necessary. "Look, can we sit down somewhere and talk? I've ran about half of London to get here, and then only to get told that the Minister doesn't just meets people without a damn appointment-"

Scotland pulled Canada into the many corridors in the building, brushing past the scores of smartly clad politicians running around with scores of papers in their arms. They soon reached a less busy corridor where the only noise came from the traffic outside on the roads. Only then did Scotland turned around, folded his arms and gruffly said. "Go on."

Canada sighed. This was going to take a while.


	16. Chapter 16

His heart was beating furiously.

America glanced around the corridor, thoughtlessly adjusting his glasses as he stared dully at the door in front of him. Tentatively, he raised his right hand to the door before pausing just as his knuckles were an inch away from the wood, trembling slightly as he exhaled, eyes shut tightly.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down," chanted America to himself , hand still shaking slightly. "She just wants to talk, it has nothing to do with-"

The door abruptly opened in front of America, causing him to nearly jump a metre back in fright. Professor McGonagoll exited Umbridge's office, her left eyebrow raising in surprise when she spotted America. "Is there something wrong, Alfred?"

"No!" America all but yelled a little too quickly. Catching Professor McGonagoll's disapproving look, he lowered his voice. "I mean, no, I didn't do anything-it's just, she wanted to meet up with me to talk about my job as Quidditch referee-"

"Well, you're in luck then Alfred," replied Professor McGonagoll crisply. "Because I was just on my way to inform you that I have spoken with Dolores," the name was spoken with so much bitterness that America winced inwardly, "and she has given approval for the Gryffindor Quidditch team to continue playing."

America nearly laughed out loud in relief, but seeing the way Professor McGonagoll was eyeing him, he restrained himself and settled for solemnly nodding along to her words. "Uh, I don't quite know how to thank you professor-"

"Alfred?"

America groaned as Umbridge's voice floated out of her office. With a sympathetic look, Professor McGonagoll waved him towards Umbridge's office before striding away down the corridor, the students parting before her as she walked through the throngs of young witches and wizards.

Umbridge's face was sour as America entered. Before he could even close the door, Umbridge spoke snappily. "Permission has been granted to all teams to continue playing Quidditch. Looks like you're a very lucky young man, Alfred." An ominous atmosphere hung in the air, a silent threat. "You still have leave to stay at Hogwarts but the moment you are not required Alfred, you will be sent away. Am I making myself quite clear?"

At that moment Alfred could've have given a single damn to whatever Umbridge was saying to him. He was jubilant, happy that he wasn't out of a job and that he still got to stay with England for a while longer and frankly, that was all that counted to him. In his head, he punched and leapt into the air joyously, ignoring everything else.

"Did you hear what I just told you, Alfred?"

America froze and turned around to face a very, very annoyed Umbridge. "Maybe?" he stuttered.

The way Umbridge was staring at him, America wasn't going to get to leave her office anytime soon without a long lecture.

* * *

Scotland threw a brown folder down on the table and pushed it towards Canada who was sitting in an armchair facing the table. The Canadian had taken a quick shower and had changed into clean clothes provided by Scotland that were two sizes too huge and hung off his thin frame, making the younger man look like a homeless scarecrow on the run.

Canada quirked an eyebrow as he picked up the folder while Scotland paced around his personal office agitatedly, his footsteps short and rhythmic. "What is this?" Canada asked as he flipped the folder open and started speed reading through the contents.

Scotland whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the folder. "Two weeks ago. It happened two weeks ago. There was a security breach in the oldest document vault in Downing Street. By the time I got there, several documents concerning _us_ ," the emphasis on the word got Canada's attention, "Were missing. Vanished into thin air. Yours, mine, England's, your brother's folders. All gone. Whoever our thief was, he knew what he wanted. And he got it." Abruptly, Scotland slammed a fist on the table, sending stray papers flying and pencils rattling. "What the hell is going on here?" The words were spat out furiously. "First the Ministry of Magic monitoring Muggle fireplaces, now documents from World War Two disappear into the void! I am fed up with this mess, and I want out as soon as that obnoxious, thick-headed brother of mine gets back from his teaching position at Hogwarts!"

Canada recoiled physically. Abashedly, Scotland lowered his voice.

"I'm sorry," Scotland said quietly after a few seconds of awkward silence. "This had nothing to do with you. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"No, no it's alright!" Canada replied hastily, clutching the folder to his chest tightly. Thoughtfully, he added. "Do you need any help?"

"Yes." came the short reply. "I had an emergency meeting over in Berlin a few days ago and do you know what they told me?" In a dramatic reenactment of the meeting, Scotland threw his hands up into the air, "'Leave it be! Let Arthur sort it out! Stay out of it! Oh, and make sure nobody else breaks into anywhere important!'."Scotland sent a glowering look into the wall behind Canada. "And regarding your brother-"

"Is he okay?" Canada said quickly, alarm rising.

Scotland snorted. "Are you joking? It would take an entire squadron of tanks to even dent your brother. No, he's fine. I just got a letter from him, and he even managed to send me the counter-curse to that bloody hex England put on me and my brothers earlier. No, it's you I worry about, Canada."

"Me?" Canada could have swore his voice went up three octaves.

"Voldemort's after you." It wasn't a question. "He wants you for whatever twisted reasons he has. Which means he knows what you are. Which also means somebody told him. Which means our beloved thief who stole those documents must be somebody on the inside."

A chill ran up Canada's spine and it had nothing to do with the air conditioner. "You're telling me there might be a spy in Downing Street?"

"God no, not Downing Street." Scotland said with an oddly pained expression. "I'm talking about the Ministry of Magic."

"Well that's not surprising if you consider the fact that there are still a few former Death Eaters working there-"

"Exactly!" Scotland pointed at Canada. "So when you suddenly start working at the ministry, what will those so called former Death Eaters do? Call the big guy down? Send a Killing Curse at you?" The Scotsman was grinning now. "And when they make their move...wham! We'll get them!"

Canada's mind screeched to a halt as he stared up at a smiling Scotland. No, he must have misheard it. It wasn't possible. "Hold up. Did you just say...work? At the ministry? Of magic? I-I can't do that!"

Scotland loomed over Canada. "Says who?"

Canada sighed."You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"One glance at the older man's face was enough to reassure him.

"God help me," Canada thought wearily to himself. He was getting too old for these sort of undercover missions. Sitting at a desk doing paperwork looked far more appealing now. The sudden thought that he was becoming more like England sent a wry smile across his face. What would America think of him?

"How is this going to work?" asked Canada. He wanted every single detail, right down to the number of hours and minutes and seconds he was going to be working at the ministry. There was no way in hell he was going to end up like his brother, getting pushed around by those higher than him in Hogwarts. Getting stuck in rough situations and then getting out of them unscathed was America's ability, not his, as evident by the bruises forming on Canada's face and the jagged wounds still glistening red on his arms.

Scotland looked pleased with himself. Too pleased for Canada's taste, in fact. "We have inside information already on how these Death Eaters are pulling the strings around Fudge-oh, he's the current Minister of Magic," he said quickly in response to Canada's questioning look. "Fudge himself is oblivious to everything important going on around him and prefers to stick with unimportant shit. Trying to change Hogwarts, stop the Order of the Phoenix and boot out Albus Dumbledore etcetera, etcetera. That's another story for another time, sorry. You, Canada, will help bring us inside information on everything happening around Fudge and whatever nonsense those Death Eaters get up to in the Ministry. Is that alright with you?"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "And just exactly what will I be working as in the ministry?"

"You'll be Fudge's junior assistant's assistant."

An eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"Fudge's junior assistant. Percy Weasley. You'll be his assistant. Run errands, fetch tea, get spare paper, whatever wizards tell their assistants to do. It's a perfect position." Scotland looked proud of himself, and Canada didn't want to burst his bubble. "You'll be able to listen in on everything that goes on in Fudge's office and identify the game the Death Eaters are urging us to play with them. And yes, you'll report to me. I'm in charge of this mission, after all."

"But Scott, I can't do this-" Canada put his hands up in defense when Scotland bristled. "Hear me out, please. Give me a moment." He took a deep breathe. "This is too risky. Anything could go wrong in there, anything could happen and if something happens to me, if they break me and they find out anything..." There was a lump in his throat now. "I want you guys to be safe, but what if I give you all away? I'm not as strong as America, not as brave as England and I'm not tough as Germany. I… don't think I can do this."

Suddenly, Canada felt a warm hand grip his shoulders. Startled, he looked up and saw Scotland looking down at him, an unrecognisable expression on his face, his eyes clouded over.

It was a few seconds before Scotland spoke. "I understand." There was a strong swell of emotion in his tone of voice, something unidentifiable. "If you really don't want to do it, I won't force you. I can always call France over for help. I just thought you might want in on this mission, since you and England are quite close…" A small smile flickered over the Scottish man's face. "Well, closer than I am with him, anyway."

Canada was at a loss for words. He had never seen Scotland this desperate before. A small voice nagged him at the back of his head, urging him to help. His logical side however, urged him to turn away from it all. This was none of his business, why get involved? It would only get more complicated later on, why risk everything for this matter?

But his brother was in trouble, and England too. For once, everyone needed him. What would America do in a situation like this? _He'd do what he thought was right,_  Canada's inner voice told him.

"Fine," Scotland turned to look at Canada, who had stood up, a fire burning in his violet eyes. "I'll take the job."

A small grin flittered over Scotland's face.

* * *

"Hey, Harry!" Harry turned around to see Angelina running down the stairs to catch him. "Harry, wait up!"

Harry waited a while for Angelina to catch her breathe before asking. "What's up, Angelina?"

Angelina triumphantly waved a piece of parchment before his face. "Guess what? McGonagoll got permission for us to continue playing, hah! Practice is on at seven tonight!" She peered closely at Harry. "You don't look well, Harry. Did something happen?"

Harry stared at Angelina. Just this morning, Hedwig had flown in during History of Magic class, her wings bent at an awkward angle. Despite Professor Kirkland's assurance that she was going to be fine after resting for a day, Harry was still concerned. What if someone had read the contents of Sirius' letter? And just yesterday, Umbridge had nearly caught him and Sirius in the fireplace, her stubby fingers grabbing around in the fire where Sirius' head had been previously. Just thinking about it sent coldness seeping into Harry. "I'm fine, Angelina. I'll see you tonight."

Angelina leaned in closer, whispering into Harry's ear. "Hey, about _that_  other club, have you organised the first meeting yet?"

Harry shook his head. At this very moment, Ron and Hermione were still looking for suitable rooms. Most rooms were too small to fit their group and those that were big enough were located too close to Umbridge's office for Harry's taste. "Not yet, I'll contact everyone when I find somewhere suitable for us."

Angelina shrugged. "Alright, just make sure none of those Slytherins find out, okay? I hear Malfoy's still on your tail. See you later, Harry!"

Harry merely waved halfheartedly at Angelina as she skipped away, his mind a thousand miles away on Sirius.

* * *

Percy Weasley stared at the young man before him. When he'd said he wanted an assistant, he wasn't expecting somebody so... _young_. Ironically, he was probably the same age as or even younger than his new assistant.

Canada stared down at his shoes as he sat in the chair. Other than a mumbled "Good morning," as he'd entered, he had not spoken a single word to his new employer sitting across from him.

"So, let's start then. What's your name?" said Percy once he realised that the shy young man in front of him was not going to speak first.

"Matthew Williams," muttered Canada as he continued staring down at his shoes.

Percy sighed frustratedly. "Alright then, Matthew. You can start by clearing out these," he waved at three cabinets that were bursting with parchment. Canada gulped. "Then when you're finished, you need to accompany me to a meeting with the Minister of Magic. I need you to record the meeting for documentation purposes." He squinted at Canada. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Canada intoned dully. Internally, he cursed Scotland for always sending him to boring jobs that threatened to kill him with boredom. Why couldn't he get sent to Hogwarts instead? Of course, it was his brother that went instead of him. Always America, never Canada, the silent younger brother in the hero's shadow.

But now his brother was in danger, and England too. Everything depended on how much intel he could leak to Scotland, who in turn would alert his own brother at Hogwarts.

Canada sat up straighter in his chair.

* * *

England bolted upright in his bed. Sweat was beaded on his forehead as he tried to calm his racing heart. The sheets were tangled around his waist as he sat in the dark, listening to America's gentle snores in the corner of the room.

_It was just a drea_ m, he thought silently to himself. England hadn't had a nightmare that bad ever since the night Voldemort had returned in his physical form last year.

In his dreams, England had felt anger and impatience so intense he had cried out in pain, his body writhing in his bed. He had seen Voldemort, heard him hissing at his followers, heard the venom in his voice and felt his frustration.

The Dark Lord wasn't happy with something, that was for sure.

Previously, years ago, he had consulted with Dumbledore on the issues of his nightmares. There was a limit to his knowledge of magic, and the realm of dreams was one of them. Why could he feel what Voldemort did, see through his eyes and even read his thoughts? Even Dumbledore had not been able to give a full explanation, offering an idea instead.

"Voldemort is a part of you, however much you try to deny it." Dumbledore had said gently. "His actions, his thoughts, his emotions are all a part of you. I think, if you concentrate hard enough, you may be able to see into the minds of your own citizens, decipher their feelings and emotions..."

"I know I can do that," England had replied curtly, "Although frankly, it doesn't interest me. In general, I just feel what the people are feeling towards the nation, sense their thoughts pertaining to the country and that's it. I don't go any further. Why is Voldemort disturbing my dreams then? I don't sleep well enough as it is." Centuries of bloodshed and heartbreak would do that to a person.

"Arthur, I believe it is because whatever is Voldemort is doing at the moment is directly impacting the country and its citizens severely." Dumbledore stared out of his office's window. On his perch in the corner, Fawkes gnawed on a bone. "Which would offer a vague explanation to why you are dreaming of him, but still doesn't explain why you can sense his emotions and moods..."

England had puzzled over it for years despite the nightmares disappearing after Voldemort had been vanquished, but a year before Dumbledore had sent an owl to him, asking him to come to Hogwarts for an explanation regarding his nightmares. When he'd arrived, Dumbledore had got straight to the point. "I believe I might have an explanation to your nightmares in the past."

England had listened in horror as Dumbledore told him everything he needed to know. Voldemort and his hocruxes, the pieces of his soul lying scattered around the country and finally, Harry Potter.

"Are you telling me that Harry Potter might be a Hocrux?" England's knuckles had gone white from gripping the edge of Dumbledore's table too tightly. "How does that pertain to my nightmares?"

Dumbledore had knitted his fingers together, staring thoughtfully at England before continuing. "I believe the same concept applies to you too, my dear friend. You carry a piece of each citizen inside you, a piece of their soul. One might even call it their essence, if you want to be precise."

England groaned as he sat down again. "So now that Voldemort's back, I'm going to start feeling his emotions again? I don't think I can take it anymore. Generally, his thoughts just go along the line of 'I'm angry at everyone so I'm going to kill them!'. And what about Harry? Have you told him about this matter?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I need more confirmation that a piece of Voldemort's soul is in him, although I already have solid proof that he  _is_  splitting his soul. Tom Riddle's diary, his resurrection to a physical body... all proof that he has found a way to cheat death."

"Why would he want to live forever, though?" The words had tumbled out of England's mouth before he could think about it. "It's not exactly a walk in the park, and I speak from experience."

Dumbledore had looked curiously at England before replying. "Pity him, England. You who do not fear death know that there are infinitely worse things than dying. Heartbreak, broken relationships, betrayal... ultimately, Voldemort does not feel as we do and to him, death is the ultimate enemy to be conquered and he believes he has succeeded despite his soul getting maimed beyond recognition in the process." He had sighed. "Until we destroy his Hocruxes, I believe that we are stuck with him coming back from the dead every time he gets killed."

The conversation ran through England's head again as he gripped the bed sheets, his breathing gradually slowing down and returning to its normal pattern. He had to get used to these nightmares from now on, seeing as how active Voldemort was getting in the past few months. It wasn't until he had calmed down significantly that he felt the warm body lying next to him on his own bed.

"HOLY SH-" England yelled in surprise but immediately clapped a hand to his mouth. In a lower tone, he whispered furiously to the younger man in his bed. "What the hell are you doing in my bed, America?"

America stirred, opening one eye as he looked up to see England looming furiously over him. "Geez, old man. Calm down, will you? I heard you thrashing and moaning around in bed just now and I thought..." He looked uneasy for a moment. "Remember when I was young and I'd get scared of lightning and thunder? Do you remember what you did to try to get me to calm down?"

England paused for a moment to rake his memories. "I'd let you sleep in my bed for that night, and I'll occasionally sing you a song or two." He blushed furiously. His singing skills weren't exactly perfect, and France had once likened it to a crow screeching on its deathbed. Of course, France had ended up with a black eye that day.

"Well then," America rolled over and pulled up the sheets to his chin. "Consider this as payback for all those times you used to comfort me whenever I had a nightmare by singing. And I'm not moving from your bed. You can go sleep in my bed, if you want." There was a smug expression on America's face as his eyes closed, and soon enough he was snoring softly.

England's frown softened as he laid down on his pillow, staring at America's face as he slept. The young nation looked vulnerable, his face strangely relaxed in his sleep.

_I'd let you sleep in my bed whenever you got scared as a child._ England stroked the top of America's head, seeing once again the young boy he'd raised.  _And now you're repaying the debt._

"Thank you, America," whispered England as he settled down, sleep claiming him once again.

On the other side of the bed, America smiled.


End file.
